Pretending, I: Witness
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: She blew out a breath. "I don't understand how it's so easy for you to pretend all this is real." His jaw tightened. "Well, that makes us even then. Because I don't understand how it's so easy for you to pretend that it isn't."
1. Chapter 1

A/N1: No. I didn't. Really, I didn't. I did not write another novel-length Mentalist fic four years after the show ended. Because to do such a thing, I'd have to be disturbed, depraved, and-oh, who am I kidding? I totally did.

A/N2: This is a writing experiment that per usual got way out of control. At some point a couple years ago, I started thinking about how much of the show was centered on the concept of "pretending." Not only Jane's schemes and tricks, but the two main characters pretending they didn't have feelings for one another. So I wanted to play with that idea. The plan was this: write four stories that were thematically linked on this concept of "pretending," but independent of each other in terms of plot. Then of course the first one turned into a novel. I still plan to write the others, but they will not be directly connected to this one plot-wise. This is just the first variation on the theme.

A/N3: This story goes AU at some point in the middle of 5x01. Spoilers up to that point are fair game.

A/N4: My characterization of Jane in this fic is predicated on the crazy idea that instead of doubling down on being a jerk after returning from Vegas, he actually takes stock of his actions and truly measures the cost.

xxx

Lisbon sipped her champagne and scanned the elegant room of party-goers for a man who sold weapons to the highest bidder among the local gangs. She absently tugged at the hem of her too-short dress, then remembered this had the unfortunate side effect of causing the dress to dip dangerously low in the front. She straightened herself as best she could under the circumstances and abandoned the effort in favor of continuing her search.

There he was – two o clock. Conveniently, her partner in this mission was already chatting to him. She squared her shoulders and focused on crossing the room without toppling over in the ridiculously high heels Karen from the support team insisted she wear. When this was all over, Karen was going to get an earful, that was for sure. How was she supposed to run down a perp in these things?

Of course, Karen would probably argue that she wasn't supposed to be running down perps at fancy cocktail parties. Lisbon and her partner were supposed to be gathering intel and reporting back to the head of the Organized Crime unit to help them with their case against Frank Derosa, arms dealer.

Speaking of which…

She reached her partner's side and slipped an arm around his waist. "There you are," she said affectionately, tilting her head up to press a kiss against his cheek. "I've been looking all over for you."

Javier Sanchez turned his melting brown eyes upon her and gazed at her appreciatively. "Forgive me, amor," he said, wrapping his arm around her in a protective and affectionate gesture. "We were just talking business for a few minutes. You remember Mr. Derosa, don't you?"

"Nice to see you," Lisbon said to Derosa politely. Since Jane had advised her that the best disguise when undercover was self-absorbed disinterest, she ignored Derosa's interest in her cleavage and turned back to Sanchez, curling herself closer to him. "Enough shop talk," she pouted. "This is a party. Besides," she said, running her index finger up and down his tie. "You promised me a dance."

He patted her on the hip. "Just a few more minutes, baby. We're almost done."

She sighed heavily to communicate her displeasure, but didn't argue. She laid her head on his shoulder and continued toying with the tie, patterned with a subtle design of gray roses over black silk. She entertained herself by tracing the pattern of the vines with her fingertip as she listened in on the conversation between Sanchez and Derosa.

"So," Sanchez said, stealing a sip of Lisbon's champagne. "When do you expect your new product to come off the line? My employer is anxious to put in an early order."

Derosa sipped his own champagne. "It is difficult to say. There have been some unforeseen…difficulties."

"Is there anything that can be done to smooth the path in the face of these difficulties?" Sanchez asked. "My employer is not a patient man. I would prefer to give him good news."

Derosa considered this. "Possibly…" Lisbon slowed her trailing of her fingertip against the silk of the tie and listened closely as Derosa continued. "There is a small matter in which you may be of some assistance—"

The sound of Lisbon's phone buzzing in her clutch interrupted him. "Sorry," she said, chagrined, and pulled it out to check the display. Jane. She huffed impatiently and hit the button to silence the call.

Sanchez prompted Derosa once the buzzing stopped. "You were saying…?"

"I have reason to believe one of my main storage facilities in the southern part of the state has been compromised."

Sanchez spoke carefully. "My employer would be happy to provide an alternative location, if that will help facilitate the sale."

Lisbon clenched her fingers around his arm and kept her face a bland mask to suppress her excitement. If Derosa allowed them to provide a warehouse, that would be a major coup for the CBI. They could set up surveillance, monitor all the transactions within it, track the players coming to and from the location—

_Bzz. Bzz._

Goddammit. Jane again. She stabbed viciously at the button to silence the call. Jane had been an even bigger pain in the ass than usual since this case had started. He had not been happy when he learned Lisbon had been asked to participate in an undercover operation with Organized Crime, and even less happy when he realized that Organized Crime had no intention of inviting him to help with the investigation himself. Ever since then, he'd been making a nuisance of himself by calling her incessantly and showing up uninvited to events she and Sanchez had been invited to as a couple.

Derosa glanced at her. "Your young lady looks like she's about to shoot lightning bolts out of her eyes at her phone." He turned towards her. "Tell me, my dear. Who is it that has angered you so deeply? I want to make sure I never have occasion to stand too closely to him if you are nearby."

"I—" Lisbon stopped, flustered. "No one. I apologize. I didn't mean to interrupt—"

"It's Patrick again, isn't it?" Sanchez took the phone out of her hand and glanced at it. Since she had only muted the call rather than declining it, Jane's face was still clearly visible on the display. He showed the image to Derosa. "Her ex," he explained. "He's having trouble letting go."

Derosa chuckled. "Poor man." His eyes raked over Lisbon. "One can hardly blame him, can they?"

Lisbon cringed, annoyed at Jane for inserting himself into the middle of the scene without even being physically present, but grateful to Sanchez for his quick thinking. She flushed. "He doesn't know when to give up."

Derosa patted her hand. "Don't be too hard on the man. It is not easy for a man to give up a treasure such as yourself."

"If he doesn't give up soon, he's gonna lose his treasure hunting hand and have to get a hook instead," Lisbon said darkly.

Derosa laughed, delighted. "You've got yourself a real firecracker there, Palermo," he grinned, addressing Sanchez by his alias.

Sanchez put his arm around Lisbon and gazed down at her affectionately. "You have no idea, sir."

Lisbon punched him lightly in the ribs. "Oh, hush," she said, but let a smile pull at the corner of her mouth so Derosa would think she was charmed rather than irritated by being discussed as an object to be won. Sanchez's twinkling brown eyes made the task of being charmed easier than it might otherwise have been.

She cleared her throat. "Enough about my past mistakes. Please, continue your conversation."

"Ah, yes," Derosa said. He looked at Sanchez. "Where were we?"

Sanchez picked up the thread smoothly. "I was just saying that if you're in need of a new facility, I'm sure my employer would be happy to accommodate you."

"Hm. I'm afraid that wouldn't be quite suitable," Derosa said. "If, however, your employer was in a position to advance some of the funds required to secure an appropriate location, that would be most useful."

Lisbon suppressed a groan. Great. So instead of providing a warehouse that would provide them a multitude of opportunities to collect the evidence they needed to destroy Derosa's empire, they were being asked to fork over cash from the CBI's coffers to a man selling weapons to drug dealers. Still, maybe they would be able to set up a way to trace the money—

Her phone buzzed in Sanchez's hand, signaling a new call.

"Give me that," Lisbon growled. "I'm going to chuck it out the window."

Sanchez looked at the display. "It's not him," he said, handing the phone back to her. "It's your friend from work."

She frowned and looked at the image on the screen. Van Pelt. She felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe Jane had actually been calling about something important—maybe the team needed her. "Excuse me," she said. "I'd better take this."

She didn't wait for a response, but headed out to the patio so she could minimize the risk of being overheard. "Grace," she said into the phone once she had closed the sliding glass door behind her. "What's up?"

"You'll answer Grace's calls, but you won't answer mine?" Jane's voice came through the line, sounding wounded.

Lisbon closed her eyes. She should have known. "Let me guess. You pickpocketed Van Pelt's phone."

"You left me no choice, Lisbon," Jane said, utterly without remorse. "If you'd answered my calls, I wouldn't have had to resort to such crude methods."

"Jane, I'm in the middle of something here," Lisbon said tightly. "What the hell do you want?"

"Oh, right, sorry, I forgot. You're too busy playing footsie with Agent Sanchez in the name of justice to answer my calls," Jane said irritably.

If she didn't know better, she'd almost say he sounded jealous. "You have ten seconds to get to the point, or I'm hanging up."

"Something that Lorelei said to me when I was interrogating her has been bothering me," Jane said.

"Seriously?" Lisbon said, incredulous. "Jane, I am _working_. I can't have you calling every five minutes about every idle thought that you come up with when you're staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night in your damn thinking room."

"I didn't think of this while staring at the ceiling in the attic," Jane said defensively. He paused. "I thought of it while staring at Elvis from my couch."

"Good for you," Lisbon said irritably. "I'm hanging up now."

"Don't you want to hear what's bothering me?"

"Tell Cho. He's in charge while I'm on this assignment."

"I thought you would be happy that I'm sharing this with you. You always complain that I never tell you things. Now I want to tell you something, and you won't listen. Besides, I don't think you'd be very happy with me if I shared this particular thought with Cho."

She sighed. "Fine. Go ahead."

"She said she thought I was a little bit in love with you."

Seriously? Eight weeks of silence on the subject, and he wanted to talk about that _now_? "So what?"

"Don't you find that interesting?"

She found it more painful than interesting, but she declined to mention this. "Right now I'm more interested in bringing down Derosa. So if you'll just let me get back to what I'm supposed to be doing, which is _investigating his operation_—"

"It's not just that," Jane said. "She also made a point to describe herself as my lover to you within the first five minutes of our interrogation."

"What is your damn point, Jane?" she snapped. This was the last conversation she wanted to be having right now. She looked through the sliding glass door, searching for Sanchez and Derosa. They were still deep in conversation where she'd left them on the far side of the room. That was a relief. At least one of them was getting the job done.

"I'm not finished. The other thing that's bothering me is that when she met you, the first thing she said to you was that she'd heard a lot about you."

She seriously considered punching him in the nose again the next time she saw him. She wouldn't wait for him to say hello, she'd just wind up and let him have it. He wouldn't even see it coming. "And?"

"And she also told me Red John wanted your head as a gift to prove my breakdown was fake."

"He was calling your bluff, Jane. This is not news. Why you had to interrupt me in the middle of an undercover operation to tell me this—"

"The _point_, Lisbon, is that she knows a lot about you."

"Again, I say, so what?"

"So, I offer myself to Red John on a platter, and all he and his minion want to talk about is you. Don't you find that significant?"

"I don't know, Jane," she said, exasperated. "What I don't find it is _useful_. How does this little brainwave of yours help us move forward with the investigation?"

"I haven't figured that out yet," Jane admitted.

"Consult with Elvis, see if he has any ideas. In the meantime, I have to go."

"Lisbon—"

She hung up on him.

She went back into the party and rejoined Sanchez and Derosa. "Sorry about that," she apologized, resuming her place next to Sanchez.

Sanchez kissed her hair. "Everything okay at work?"

"Yeah," she said, leaning into him. It might be unprofessional of her, but she had to admit she enjoyed the sensation of folding herself into his arms. He was tall and warm and not at all bad to look at. "Just a little hiccup with the release. They're working on it now. We should be all set for tomorrow."

Derosa looked at her curiously. "What is it that you do, Monica?" he asked, addressing Lisbon by her alias.

"She's project manager for the best software security system on the west coast," Sanchez said proudly, pulling her closer. Damn, he smelled good. She let herself settle into his arms. Honestly, working with drug dealers and crime lords was positively relaxing compared to enduring the chaos and destruction of a typical case with Hurricane Jane. Add in the easy camaraderie of working with the handsome and uncomplicated Sanchez and this was practically a vacation.

"Really," Derosa said with interest. "What is it that this software secures?"

Lisbon shrugged. "Anything, really. Facility access, financial systems, medical records. We have clients in all sectors."

"I see. And what was it that your friend was calling about?"

"My team found a bug in the code we're preparing for our next release," she explained. "If it went out with the release we're planning to push tomorrow, it would have been a disaster. But the team developed a workaround and it passed testing. They called to let me know that the workaround they developed passed testing so I could confirm the go/no-go decision. I talked to the testers and was satisfied with what they told me, so I authorized the release to proceed as scheduled." She mentally thanked Van Pelt for her crash course in software development life cycles, as painful as it had been at the time.

Derosa raised his eyebrows. "What would you have done if they hadn't found the solution in time?"

"Delayed the release," Lisbon answered without hesitation. "I'd rather be late than release a sub-standard product."

"An admirable attitude," Derosa said absently. He looked like he was deep in thought about something.

"Well, I don't know about you," Sanchez said. "But I've had about enough work talk for one evening, haven't you, sweetie?" He released her from his half-embrace only to take her hand and squeeze it. "What do you say we get to that dance I owe you?"

Lisbon grinned. "I say it's about damn time." She turned to Derosa. "Mr. Derosa—it's been lovely chatting with you. I hope you'll excuse us."

"Of course," he said, waving them off. But he was eyeing her speculatively in a way that mercifully didn't seem to have anything to do with her cleavage this time.

"Do you think he bought it?" she whispered to Sanchez once they were out on the dance floor.

He twirled her into his arms and grinned. "Definitely. You're really good at this."

"Really?" Lisbon said, pleased. "Jane always says I overplay it when I have to do stuff like this with him."

"Well, I don't know what he's talking about," Sanchez said firmly. "You were magnificent."

She smiled. "Thanks. Do you really think he's going to go for it?"

"Oh, yeah," he said with certainty. "He's hooked."

Lisbon smiled into his shoulder as she let him pull her in closer. "Excellent."

Xxx

After the party was over, they headed straight back to the office for the debriefing.

When they got to the bullpen, Lisbon was surprised to see her entire team still there. "What are you guys still doing here? It's late. You guys aren't even working on this case." Okay, so technically Van Pelt was advising in a technical capacity, but there was certainly no need for her to work late when all they'd been doing was going to a party to gather intel.

"Someone thought it would be a good idea if we sat in on the debrief," Cho said, casting a disgruntled look in the direction of Jane's couch. Lisbon wondered what combination of bribery and trickery Jane had used to persuade the team to give up their night off to wait around the bullpen all night.

Jane's head popped up from his couch. "I'm all about the inter-departmental cooperation, Cho. Ask anybody. Oh, hello, Lisbon." He cast his eyes over her dress and heels. "I see Karen put you in the dress I suggested. She's a woman of excellent taste, Karen. I must say you look very fetching in it. Your feet must be killing you, though."

"They are," she grumbled. So he'd put Karen up to this, had he? She should have known.

"Would you like me to give you a foot massage?" Jane said courteously, as though this were a perfectly normal thing to offer to do for your boss.

She snorted. "No, thanks." She kicked off the heels and perched herself on the edge of Jane's seldom used desk. Maybe she should put traps in the drawers for the next time he decided to use it to hide something from her. Sanchez leaned on the corner of the other side and she abandoned the idea as too likely to harm an innocent bystander by mistake.

"Hello, Sanchez," Jane said unenthusiastically. "How are you?"

"Good," Sanchez said easily. "How are you doing, Jane?"

"Never better," Jane responded, his eyes narrowing when Sanchez crossed his arms over his chest and shifted slightly closer to Lisbon.

"Okay, people," Owen Briggs said brusquely as he strode into the bullpen. Briggs, Sanchez's supervisor, was leading the task force charged with breaking up Derosa's operation. "What have we got?"

Lisbon and Sanchez broke down the relevant events of the party.

"Sounds like that bust we pulled off last month put pressure on him to locate a new place to store the weapons," Sanchez said with satisfaction. "He's in the market for a new one. I offered to set one up for him, but he didn't take the bait. But he's willing to accept cash to help move things along in that department."

"Good," Briggs said with a curt nod. "Glad to hear all our hard work is slowing down operations. Keep me posted on the conversation about the money—I'll see what I can do when the time comes. Lisbon, what about you? Got anything interesting to report?"

"I found out some more about some of the key players," Lisbon said. "Acardi is second in command, like we thought. The others defer to him when Derosa's not around. I saw different people come in and deliver messages to him three times while we there. Derosa must have a high level of trust in him. I don't think he'd let so much of the day to day operations be centralized in one guy, otherwise."

"So- unlikely that he'd bend under pressure, but if we can sideline him, it would likely have a significant impact on operations," Briggs concluded.

Lisbon nodded. "That's my take."

"What about the others?"

"I'm pretty sure Costa is the one managing the books. I heard a few people grumbling about how tightfisted he is when it comes to managing the payroll."

Briggs straightened. "That's excellent information. We can set someone to tail him, get a sense of where he stores the financial information. Anybody else we should be paying attention to?"

"I watched Lombardi a while, and I don't think he's as prominent in the organization as we originally thought. I get the impression he's more of a heavy that ends up getting treated as an errand boy half the time. Fiore, on the other hand, I think is one to watch. I get the sense he's ambitious—the type to cut down the guy in front of him in order to move up the food chain a little faster."

Briggs frowned. "What made you think that?"

Lisbon shrugged. "I couldn't say, exactly. It was the way he watched everyone around him—calculating, you know? I think we could exploit that, if we find the right pressure point."

"You got all that from eavesdropping and observation?" Brigg said, impressed. He looked at Jane. "It's like working with you, except without the lawsuits and bleeding ulcer."

"Yes, Lisbon is coming along quite nicely," Jane said, slightly disgruntled and apparently feeling the need to behave like even more of a jackass than usual to make up for it. "She is woefully behind on her rate of lawsuit generation, now that you mention it. I'll have to work with her on that."

Lisbon found a paperclip on his desk and threw it at his head.

"What about the software thing?" Briggs asked. "Did he seem interested?"

Lisbon and Sanchez exchanged glances. "He was definitely thinking about it," Lisbon said carefully. "Too early to tell if he'll end up taking the bait."

The fictitious software company had been Van Pelt's idea. Their intelligence implied that Derosa was old school in a lot of ways that he managed his enterprise, and the CBI had been able to exploit some of the vulnerabilities that his old-fashioned style had exposed to more advanced technological tools. Once Van Pelt had learned of some of the stuff Organized Crime had pulled off in this regard, she'd suggested taking the idea one step further—targeting Derosa's weak spots enough to make him realize he needed to invest in technology to have any hope of combating the attacks, then selling him a Trojan horse. She'd designed the ideal company for their purposes—one that had solutions for each of the pain points he'd been experiencing. She'd created a website for it and had set up a separate phone line to the fake company that went straight to her desk. Then she had set the techs from Organized Crime to write programs that would let them extract information from Derosa's system in the guise of protecting it.

After reading Derosa's file, Jane had advised them that Derosa was the sort of person who instinctively distrusted the idea of doing business with people he had never met in person. He believed himself a canny judge of character and preferred to assess for himself the motives of those around him. If he needed something, he would turn first to people he knew to find a solution.

That was where Lisbon came in. Van Pelt printed business cards with Lisbon's alias, Monica Altera, and created a second line for the fake company routed to Lisbon's cell. They would make sure Derosa knew she had knowledge of the sort of technology he needed to modernize his operation. When the time was right, Lisbon would offer to show him the product they'd developed.

"Excellent work, both of you," Briggs said approvingly to Lisbon and Sanchez. He shook his head. "You two are turning into quite the dream team."

Jane slouched further down on his couch and scowled. He closed his eyes and tried to project indifference without quite succeeding.

"Thanks, Briggs," Lisbon said. "It's been kind of fun, actually." She reached out with her bare foot and kicked Jane's old brown shoe gently. "Not least having a break from this one."

Jane opened his eyes, indignant, but when his eyes traced the line of Lisbon's bare leg extended towards his, he got distracted and forgot to come up with a clever retort.

Briggs thanked them again, then bade them good night, but Sanchez lingered, apparently not in any hurry to leave.

"Van Pelt, thanks for all those things you explained to me about all that techie stuff," Lisbon said to Grace. "It was really helpful."

"I still don't see why Van Pelt couldn't have taken this assignment instead of you," Jane said grumpily. "Seems like she'd have been a far better fit with her knowledge of all that computery gadgetry stuff."

"I would have recommended her, Jane, but her picture was in the paper recently for that award she won for that 'computery gadgetry stuff,'" Lisbon explained patiently. "There was too great a risk that someone might recognize her as a cop."

"Besides," Sanchez piped up. "Van Pelt may be tops at the computer stuff, but Teresa knows the major players in California crime like nobody else. No offense to the rest of your team, but I doubt you could put anybody else in that room and have them make the connections she did about that bunch and the relationships they have with one another."

"Yes," Jane said sourly. "She's a real prodigy, isn't she?"

She kicked him again, harder this time. "Don't be an ass. Is it so difficult to acknowledge that I'm perfectly capable of doing detective work without your help for once?"

"I'm just saying, I know a few things about assessing relationships through body language myself," Jane said. "I was under the impression that was what you paid _me_ for."

"No offense, Jane, but I don't think I'd have enjoyed the evening quite as much if you'd been the one to come as my date," Sanchez said with a grin.

"I bet you wouldn't have," Jane muttered.

Lisbon stood, then stretched. "I guess I should check my messages," she said without enthusiasm, glancing in the direction of her office.

Jane rolled his eyes. "They can wait. You should go home."

Lisbon considered this. "Yeah. You're right." She looked at the rest of her team. "You guys should all go home. And," she said, feeling generous. "As long as we don't get a new case this weekend, come in late on Monday." It wasn't much, but hopefully it would be some small recompense for Jane railroading them into staying late when they didn't even have a case.

"Kay," Cho said, and got up.

"Thanks, boss," Rigsby said gratefully.

"Will you be here in the office most of the day on Monday?" Van Pelt asked. "I want to go over some of the programming specs with you."

Lisbon nodded. "I've got a budget meeting in the morning, but we can spend some time on it in the afternoon."

"Okay." She smiled brightly and picked up her things. "Have a good weekend."

"You, too."

"I'm heading out, too," Sanchez announced. "Teresa, I'll pick you up at three tomorrow, okay? Don't forget, it's a pool party this time."

Lisbon made a face. "Oh, joy."

Sanchez and the team left, and Lisbon headed to her office. Jane followed.

Lisbon pulled her messenger bag out of her desk and put her laptop inside it.

Jane leaned against the doorframe. "Forget something?" He held up her shoes, dangling from one finger.

Lisbon made a face. "I'd rather walk home barefoot."

"That doesn't sound like it would be very good for those little feet of yours," Jane commented.

She shrugged. "I have my gym bag. I'll grab my running shoes out of there before I leave." She went to the filing cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach the files she wanted from the back – the thing was not designed for short people.

"What are you doing?" Jane asked, a little strangled.

She looked at him strangely. "Just grabbing a few files to review over the weekend. All this moonlighting with Organized Crime has put me behind on some of my other work." She became aware that he was staring at the thin bands of beribboned elastic that crisscrossed her ribs on both sides of her dress. "What?" she said, sinking back down on her heels and running a hand self-consciously down the side of her dress.

Jane gestured to the dress. "I was mesmerized by the cutouts," he said. "They're quite…distracting."

"They're not cutouts," she protested.

He raised his eyebrows. "What would you call them then?"

Lisbon glanced down at herself. "I dunno. Strappy ribbony things?"

Jane, for once, seemed to be at a loss. "I see." He cleared his throat. "So, how is it working with Sanchez?"

The opening was too good to resist. "Oh, you mean going out with another man?" she teased. "It's great. Fun. Intense. Challenging." She smirked. "He's super dynamic. I think we have a great connection."

"Very funny," Jane said dryly.

She grinned. "You a little jealous?"

He hesitated. "Maybe a little."

Disarmed by the admission, Lisbon paused, thrown off her stride. Was he serious?

Jane sat down on her couch. "We didn't finish our conversation earlier."

Her smile faded. He wanted to talk more about Lorelei and Red John. Of course. "I don't know, Jane," she said reluctantly. "It's late."

"This is important, Lisbon." He patted the spot next to him on the couch.

Better to give in now, she reasoned. If she didn't, he'd pester her incessantly, probably at the most inconvenient possible times. "Fine." She crossed to the couch and curled up next to him, her legs tucked up underneath her.

Jane looked away. He pressed his hands against his thighs and breathed out slowly.

"What's the matter with you?" Lisbon, surprised.

He didn't meet her eye. "Nothing's the matter with me."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're acting weird."

He risked a glance over at her knees. "Well… you're sitting very close to me." His eyes traveled upwards, tracing the line of her dress. "And you're not wearing very much clothing."

"Since when do you care about that?" she demanded, incredulous.

Jane frowned. "What does that mean?"

"You've never…" She stared at him. "What the hell, Jane? Did Lorelei turn your sex switch on or something?"

Jane looked scandalized. "My sex switch?"

"You've gone without…you know, for a long time. Then you sleep with Lorelei and suddenly it's like, I dunno, Sleeping Beauty." She gestured vaguely. "You woke up again."

Jane stared straight ahead and didn't answer. "June eighth, 2007," he said finally.

"June eighth?" Lisbon echoed. "What happened on June eighth, 2007?"

He looked at his hands. "That was the first time I saw you in your dark green t-shirt. You know—the one with the scoop neck? The air conditioning was on the fritz and you had this little patch of sweat at the small of your back. The hair from your ponytail was sticking to your neck."

Lisbon's face felt hot. So?

He looked at her. "That was when I 'woke up,' as you so eloquently put it. I couldn't stop thinking about—" He cleared his throat. "Anyway. That was when it happened the first time."

"That was like, three weeks after I met you!" Lisbon said, incredulous.

He shrugged, but offered no further explanation.

"And now?" she challenged, unable to let it go.

He sighed. "I am capable of the occasional human instinct, Teresa."

_But you don't normally admit to them_, she thought. She leaned back and surveyed him with a gimlet eye. "Why are you telling me this?"

"It's a new thing I'm trying," he said heavily.

"What is?" she said, her voice thick with suspicion.

He looked back at her. "Honesty."

"Ha!" she scoffed. That'd be the day.

He held her gaze. "Specifically, being honest with you."

Lisbon gaped. Was he being serious? Surely not. That wasn't how Jane operated. Abruptly, she asked, "What did you want to talk about, anyway?"

"I talked to Lorelei again tonight."

Lisbon stiffened. "Is that why you called me in the middle of the party?"

He shook his head. "I went to talk to her after you hung up on me."

Lisbon didn't know how to respond to this. "Oh."

"I was testing a theory," he explained.

"What theory?" Lisbon asked, though she wasn't at all sure she wanted to know.

"Lorelei is convinced I'm in love with you," he announced.

Lisbon shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You said that already."

"No," he corrected her. "In that interrogation during my first week back, she told me she thought I was 'a little bit' in love with you."

"So?" Lisbon said warily. She couldn't believe how casual he was being about this.

"At the time, I thought she was needling me, just trying to get under my skin. But when I talked to her today, I realized she really believes it."

"Why do you think that?" Lisbon said, annoyed.

"Because when I went over there, the first thing she did was smirk and ask me how your assignment was going."

"What does that matter?"

"Firstly, it tells us that she's still somehow in contact with Red John."

Lisbon frowned. "How does it tell us that?"

"How else would she know anything about your assignment?" Jane said impatiently. "I'm assuming you didn't tell her about it."

"Of course not." Lisbon considered this. "What else does it tell us?"

He fidgeted. "It tells us that she knows this assignment is bothering me."

She turned to him in surprise. "The assignment is bothering you?"

He smiled without humor. "Human impulses, remember? You're my partner. I'm not exactly jumping up and down over the fact that the minute I got back, suddenly you started spending all your time with Sanchez."

Lisbon blinked.

"Anyway," he said hastily. "Then I started thinking about why she was so certain that I have feelings for you."

"And what did you come up with?" she asked, a little dazed.

"It was that kiss," he said. "Lorelei asked me to kiss her, remember?"

She was hardly likely to forget it. Her mouth turned down at the corners. "I remember."

"Don't you see?" he said. "It was a test."

"What kind of test?"

"She wanted to see if I would hesitate to show her physical affection once I was back with you."

Lisbon blew out an impatient breath. "So you passed the test." What the hell did that mean? Back with you. He wasn't back with her. He was back with the CBI. He'd never been…with her.

He shook his head. "No. I failed the test."

Her brow crinkled. "What do you mean? She asked you to kiss her and you kissed her."

"I kissed her because I realized my mistake," he corrected her.

"What mistake?"

"I didn't kiss her right away," he explained. "I hesitated. Do you remember what she said to me?"

Lisbon shook her head.

"She laughed at me. And she said, 'First you say you'll do anything I want. Then you refuse the first thing I ask for.'"

"But you didn't refuse," Lisbon said, still stuck on this point.

"I tried to deflect her," he said. "And she picked up on it."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Some deflection. You ended up with your tongue down her throat five seconds later."

"There was no tongue involved," he said, irritated. "And you are missing the point."

"What _is_ the point?"

"The point is I had no interest in kissing her, and she knew it. But she asked me to do it anyway. Why?"

"I don't know, Jane," Lisbon said, aggravated. She desperately wanted this conversation to end.

"I think Red John put her up to it," Jane said.

"Seriously?" Lisbon said, incredulous. "Are you really this paranoid, or is this some kind of twisted effort to get back in my good graces after you kissed a suspect during an interrogation?"

"Think about it, Lisbon," Jane said. "Remember the cantaloupe in the wig."

"You think Red John told her you're in love with me," Lisbon said flatly.

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Jane said. "How else would she even know about you? Why else would she make a point of announcing to you that she and I had slept together ten seconds after meeting you?"

"Fine," Lisbon said. "Say you're right. Why would Red John bother to put Lorelei up to something like that?"

"He wants me to know he knows your importance in my life," Jane said without hesitation. "And he wanted to drive a wedge between us."

"Little did he know you'd already done a fine job of that on your own," Lisbon said tartly. Stupid fake breakdown.

"Lisbon," he said, exasperated. "Why do you think he even sent her to me in the first place? He could have reached out to me a thousand different ways. But he sent Lorelei and ordered her to sleep with me."

Lisbon clenched her jaw. "That's nothing to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you," he contradicted. "It means he knew my breakdown was fake all along. He knew I was always going to come back to you eventually."

Her heart twisted painfully at his choice of words. _I was always going to come back to you_. "Why are you telling me this now?" she said tightly. "You've been back two months. Why the sudden urgency?"

"Think about it. He knew I would sleep with Lorelei. Not because she's an attractive woman, but because he knew I would do anything to sell the con for a chance at getting closer to him. But I realized today that sending Lorelei to me wasn't the culmination of my con, as I originally thought. He had his own plan, and for him, that was only the first move. He's playing the long game."

"And what exactly does this long game entail, in your considered opinion?" Lisbon asked skeptically. It all sounded pretty far-fetched to her.

"I'm not sure. But it seems like you're at the center of it, one way or another. So I was thinking…given everything we know now, the timing of this assignment of yours hardly seems like coincidence, does it?"

She stared at him. "You think Red John somehow arranged to take your favorite playmate away by having me assigned to a random case in another department?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? He's trying to keep us separated."

"No, it doesn't! Derosa has been a major player in illegal weapons sales for two decades. Bringing him down has been a priority for California law enforcement for nearly that long. You really think Red John has gone to the trouble of putting a man inside of such a complex organization with the sole aim of targeting me? If he wanted to get to me, there are about a hundred easier ways to do it."

"I still think you being assigned this undercover job with a total stranger right after I came back is far too convenient to be coincidence," Jane said stubbornly.

"Not everything is about you, Jane! Or I should say, you and Red John. You're reaching."

"I don't trust Sanchez," Jane said bluntly. "You need to watch your back around him."

"Jane, I've known the man for eight years," Lisbon said impatiently. "He's a good cop. He's not working for Red John."

"You don't know that," Jane said. "I think we should be on the lookout for a double cross. It's possible it's not Sanchez, of course. We should keep an eye out at the party tomorrow for other possible Red John plants, just in case."

"We?" Lisbon said in alarm. "Jane, this is my assignment. It's at a very delicate stage. I can't have you barging in and crapping all over it."

Jane made a face. "Thank you for that vivid metaphor, Lisbon. I assure you, I have no intention of betraying your cover, if that's what you're worried about."

Somehow, Lisbon wasn't at all reassured by this statement. She stood up. "I mean it, Jane. Stay far away from this operation. And stop calling me in the middle of events when you know I'm supposed to be undercover, while you're at it." She crossed the room and grabbed her gym bag, then stuffed her feet into her running shoes without bothering to put any socks on. "I'm going home. It's been a long night."

Jane was distracted again. "You know," he said, surveying her ensemble of running shoes plus cocktail dress, "that combination really shouldn't be attractive, but somehow you're making it work. Those running shoes really highlight the muscle definition in your legs."

"Good night, Jane," she huffed, exasperated with his ability to shift from the inane to the paranoid and back again in the space of a moment.

"Good night, Lisbon," he echoed, still staring at her legs. "Sleep well."


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't sleep well. She tossed and turned, unable to stop thinking about everything Jane had said. To her annoyance, she found herself dwelling more on his admission that he was jealous of Sanchez and his open appraisal of her in a short dress than his revelation that Red John might be after her. What was up with him, anyway? Acting territorial, complimenting her appearance without burying it in some kind of backhanded remark? These actions were not part of the Patrick Jane playbook.

_I know those emeralds look lovely with your eyes_. Huffing impatiently, she turned and punched her pillow, trying to erase the recollection from her mind. _June eighth, 2007_. Ha. A likely story. If it were true, why would he suddenly mention it now, out of the blue? _Good luck, Teresa. Love you._ She punched her pillow again.

She stared at the glowing red numbers on her bedside clock. The way he'd looked at her legs, though. That felt…real.

She turned to her back again. No. This was Jane. He could fake anything. The question was why would he decide to do so? And why now?

_He had his own plan, and for him, that was only the first move. He's playing the long game_. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She didn't believe Red John had rearranged the game to put her in the middle of it. Jane was too important to him for him to bother focusing on supporting players in his life. But she could believe Jane believed it. And she could also believe Jane would do damn near anything to sideline a plot he thought Red John had concocted. "Son of a bitch," she said aloud with a mixture of anger and disbelief. She glared at the ceiling. If he was trying to manipulate her into believing he had feelings for her as part of this twisted game he imagined he was playing with Red John, she was going to kill him.

She got up late. Mercifully, she was able to distract herself for several hours with the files she'd brought home to review. Then she dressed for the party. By the time Sanchez stopped by to pick her up, she was ready and waiting.

"You look nice," he complimented her when she slid into the passenger seat beside him.

"Thanks," she said distractedly. She'd chosen a simple floral print sundress that she thought might have been a gift from her sister-in-law several years ago, along with a plain cardigan in deference to the weather, which was a bit cooler than originally forecast. After yesterday's revelation, there was no way she'd be submitting to Karen's guidance on the wardrobe front again. She flashed on the image of Jane staring at the gaps on the side of her dress the night before and shifted in her seat. She looked over at Sanchez in his neatly pressed khakis and polo shirt and belatedly muttered, "You, too."

He grinned. "You ready for this?"

Lisbon determinedly pushed Jane and his paranoid ramblings from her mind. "Absolutely," she said grimly. "Let's do this."

Xxx

When they got to the party, it had warmed up enough that Lisbon felt comfortable discarding her cardigan, but it was still cool enough that the pool had ended up empty and abandoned. Most of the party goers had chosen to mill around on the expansive back lawn or drift inside in search of the choicest hors d'oeuvres instead.

Lisbon and Sanchez spent the first couple hours of the party mingling with people they'd gotten to know a little bit over the course of the past couple months. After they'd been there some time, they found themselves with Derosa again.

She and Sanchez had agreed not to push for anything today. This was the time to let the seeds they'd sown yesterday germinate, so they relaxed and concentrated on making the sort of idle chitchat that bored Lisbon to tears. God, she hated parties.

_I failed the test. Lorelei is convinced I'm in love with you._ Only Jane could blithely announce such a thing while still managing to avoid direct discussion of how he actually felt, she thought, annoyed.

"Everything all right, Monica?" Derosa asked. "You seem distracted."

She jerked back to attention. "Sorry," she apologized. "I'm a little preoccupied with the release."

"Everything going okay?" Sanchez said, rubbing his hand up and down her back comfortingly.

She nodded. "I expect to hear back about the results of the smoke test any minute now."

Derosa raised his eyebrows. "Smoke test? What's that?"

"Just a final check once the release is completed to make sure everything is functioning as expected," she explained. "To make sure we don't have to roll back the release." She blew out a breath. "I really don't want that to happen. I'm supposed to present the features of the new release at a conference in Vegas next weekend. If we had to roll it back…let's just say that wouldn't be ideal."

"I had no idea how much was involved in these things," Derosa remarked.

"It's a lot to coordinate," Lisbon allowed.

"You seem pretty on top of it," he said with admiration.

Sanchez kissed the side of her head. "She's the best," he said proudly. "Runs rings around me when it comes to all that tech stuff."

She patted his cheek. "You're sweet." She turned to Derosa. "Really, though. We should stop talking about work. Nick hates it when I get caught up with stuff like this on weekends."

"Too true," Sanchez said. He grinned at her. "I'd rather you got caught up with me."

Derosa chuckled. "You two are quite the pair. How long have you been together, anyway?"

"Six months," Lisbon answered without thinking, then immediately wondered why she had defaulted the duration of her fictional relationship to correspond to the length of time Jane had been gone. She had a feeling it meant nothing good in terms of the state of her psyche.

"How did you meet?"

She looked at Sanchez, not trusting herself to answer.

"It's a funny story, actually," Sanchez said. And he launched into a complicated tale involving spilled coffee and mixed up dry cleaning tickets that Lisbon largely tuned out. She probably should have paid attention in case someone else asked the same question and she needed to repeat some portion of it, but her mind wandered.

Sanchez was tracing his fingertips in lazy patterns on the bare skin above the line of the spaghetti strap dress between her shoulder blades. It was the sort of liberty she wouldn't normally permit, but she supposed it was in character for his cover, and damn if it didn't feel good. She entertained a brief fantasy of taking Sanchez home with her one night after this assignment was over and letting him run those long warm fingers all over the rest of her body. She knew that the messed up emotional headspace she was in would never allow her to follow through on the idea, but it was nice to think about it as a kind of abstract possibility. Sanchez was attractive. He would be fun and baggage free. And she hadn't had anyone touch her in so long.

Perhaps it was this thought that resulted in what came next. As Sanchez wound up his story, he put his arm around her waist and looked down at her with his smiling eyes. She looked up into those smiling eyes and smiled back. And when he lowered his head the next moment to press a soft kiss to her lips, she let him.

It was a sweet kiss. Soft and gentle. Perfectly appropriate for a couple in love to share at a party with their friends. Lisbon would have been lying if she'd said she didn't enjoy it. The point was moot, however. Because when the kiss ended, the back of her neck prickled in the way it does when you sense someone is watching you. She turned, only half-consciously, and saw Jane standing halfway across the yard, frozen, with a shocked look on his face.

"Shit," she muttered.

Sanchez followed her gaze. His grip tightened on her waist. "What is he doing here?" he hissed.

Derosa peered around them. "Is that-?"

"Monica's ex," Sanchez said grimly. "Yeah."

Jane had recovered himself by this point. He strode over to Lisbon's side. "I need to talk to you," he said urgently, shooting a nasty look at Sanchez. He put his hand on her arm. "In private."

She shook him off, horrified. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Sanchez shook his head. "Not cool, man."

"Nobody asked you, Palermo," Jane snapped.

"Ah, you must be Patrick," Derosa said jovially. He looked thoroughly entertained by the turn of events.

"Pleased to meet you," Jane said shortly without bothering to ask Derosa's name in turn. He kept his eyes on Lisbon. "Monica, I need a minute."

"Fuck off, man," Sanchez said angrily. "She's moved on. Get over it."

Jane looked at him with disdain. "Eloquently put, Palermo. Is that why Monica is so taken with you? You must really dazzle her with those elegant turns of phrase."

Sanchez smirked. "I wouldn't say it was my turn of phrase that dazzled her, no."

"Oh, for God's sake," Lisbon said, thoroughly annoyed with them both. "Patrick, what do you want?"

"I need to talk to you alone," he said, his eyes intent on hers.

"Keep dreaming, buddy," Sanchez said, putting his arm around Lisbon's waist possessively. "She's not going anywhere with you."

Jane took a step closer to him in a way that might have been menacing if you didn't know Jane was more likely to run from a punch than throw one. "Wanna bet?"

Lisbon shot him a murderous glare. Resolving to nip whatever the hell this was in the bud, she patted Sanchez on the chest and cut him off before he could retort. "Relax, baby. I'll take care of this." She turned to face Jane and jerked her head towards the empty pool deck. "Five minutes. Then you're out of here. Got it?"

"Fine," Jane said tightly, still glaring at Sanchez over her shoulder.

She led Jane over to the poolside and crossed her arms over her chest. "What the hell, Jane?"

He fidgeted. "I told you. I need to scout this operation for potential Red John allies."

"And I told you to stay far away," she snapped. "You showing up like this puts this whole operation at risk. God, Jane. How do you not get that?"

"Please," he said, unimpressed. "You and Sanchez obviously had that covered."

"That is not the point! I've been working on this assignment for two months, Jane. Working hard, doing stuff I hate, because it's going to give us an opportunity to put a crack in one of the biggest organizations of bad guys in the state. But you don't give a damn about that, do you? You only care about Red John. Nobody else's mission is important. The hard work of the people around you doesn't matter if it doesn't serve your own goal." She made a frustrated gesture. "I've gotta tell you, Jane…I'm getting pretty sick of it."

She caught sight of Sanchez, still standing with Derosa. He raised his eyebrows. 'Everything ok?' he mouthed, tilting his head in inquiry.

She waved him off in an 'I've got this' gesture and turned back to Jane.

Jane was watching Sanchez, too, frowning. Then he turned back to face her. "So what was that?" he asked abruptly.

"What was what?" she said, irritated.

His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "Cute. With Sanchez. Just now."

"It was nothing," she said dismissively.

"It wasn't nothing," he contradicted. "You kissed him."

"He kissed me," she countered.

"You let him," Jane shot back. He watched her closely. "And… you liked it."

Her face heated. "We're undercover! What was I supposed to do? Duck and weave to avoid my boyfriend kissing me?"

"Sounds like you like the sound of having Sanchez as your boy toy," he said curtly. "Maybe you should ask him if he wants to sign up for the job for real once this assignment is over. I doubt he'd have any objections to the idea. Hell, why wait? I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving you a preview of coming attractions."

She summoned every ounce of patience she had remaining to her and resisted the urge to strangle him. "Jane, this is an assignment. Reality check—none of this is real."

"The way he was feeling up your back looked pretty real to me," Jane grumbled.

She rolled her eyes. "He was not feeling me up."

Jane snorted. "Right."

"We're trying to sell the cover," she snapped. "That's it."

He looked at her intently. "Are you sure that's all it is?"

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "What else would it be?"

He shrugged. "Payback."

"Payback for what?"

"For me kissing Lorelei," he said, as though this were obvious.

Unbelievable. "That has nothing to do with this!"

"I'm not so sure."

"Of course," she said sarcastically. "Me participating in an undercover operation to catch a bunch of known criminals is completely the same as you sleeping with an accomplice of a serial killer and then kissing her in the middle of an interrogation."

"I told you," he said, sounding aggrieved. "I was playing her."

She snorted. "Right."

"I was!"

"Come on, Jane. Stop messing me around with all this stuff. What is all this really about?"

"All what?"

"You! Coming here and disrupting the operation, acting like a jealous idiot. Is this part of _your_ 'long game?'"

"I already told you, we need to be on our guard. This operation leaves you far too exposed. If we can determine for sure that Red John has a man inside the operation, maybe we can use that to our advantage-"

"So I was right." Anger rose in her chest. "You're playing me, too."

"I'm not playing you," he said in disbelief. "I'm trying to protect you!"

She shook her head, feeling sick. "God, I'm an idiot. I honestly didn't believe you would stoop so low."

"What are you talking about?"

"You, stirring up all this nonsense with Sanchez and Lorelei because you think Red John might be watching. Trying to manufacture some kind of… I don't know. A relationship that doesn't actually exist, all for the sake this ridiculous game of wits you and Red John like to play with each other."

"You think I _like_ this?" Jane said angrily. "You think I _like_ watching you with this guy, and not knowing whether he just wants to get under your Kevlar or if he's been placed in your path by Red John?"

"This is what I'm talking about!" Lisbon said, just as angrily. "You don't give a damn about what is or isn't going on between me and Sanchez. You're just pretending to because somehow, in your addled mind, you think that will help you catch Red John."

"That's ridiculous. How on earth could that help me catch Red John?"

"I don't know!" she said, aggravated. "You're the one with the master plan! The rest of us are just puppets on your strings, aren't we?"

"Oh, sure, I'm the great puppet master," he said sarcastically. "It was so clever of me, the way I arranged for Sanchez's tongue to be in your mouth just now, wasn't it?"

"Will you let that go? I told you, it was just part of the cover. And there was no tongue involved."

"I'm just saying, it kind of feels like you're trying to get back at me. I'm just wondering, how far are you planning to take it? Do you feel like you have to actually sleep with the guy to properly serve me my just desserts? Or will a little necking in the backseat of his car be sufficient to adequately display your displeasure with me?"

A red mist was starting to take over her field of vision. "Jane, you are so far over the line right now—"

"I'm trying to be honest with you. Something you keep insisting you want. Yet when I even approach the remotest vicinity of emotional truth, you retreat," he accused. "You can't get away fast enough."

"I do not retreat," Lisbon said, indignant. "I just don't want to be jerked around by you and your goddamned twisted plans. And since when do you even get within shouting distance of emotional truth, anyway?"

"I was trying last night," he said, frustrated. "When I told you about Lorelei's preoccupation with my feelings towards you."

"You were not," she scoffed. "You were too busy plotting how to use the fact that Red John asked for my head to jump ten steps ahead of him."

"You're doing it again," he said, pointing at her. "Right now. We get close to the subject of my feelings for you, and you tap dance away as quickly as possible."

She scowled. "I do not."

He stepped closer to her. "What are you so afraid of?" His gaze fixed on her, dark and penetrating. "Are you afraid that I'll tell you I'm in love with you? Or afraid that I'll tell you I'm not?"

Retreat, her ass. This from the man who 'forgot' what he'd told her before he pretended to shoot her because he was 'too hyped up.' She wasn't afraid of Patrick Jane. She was pissed off—he'd been back two months, and he chose the middle of _her_ operation to raise this subject in the most obnoxious and inconvenient manner possible? Every fiber of her being longed to punch him in the nose. She didn't, though. She took a deep breath and exercised restraint.

She pushed him into the pool instead.


	3. Chapter 3

He hadn't been expecting that, she thought with satisfaction. She could see it on his face as he fell backwards, his mouth forming a tiny 'o' of surprise. She watched him fall backwards as though in slow motion, his arms flailing for purchase to no avail. He hit the surface with an enormously gratifying splash, sending water cascading all over the opposite edge of the pool.

How was that for retreat?

She ignored the fact that Jane would no doubt consider this a most damning form of emotional retreat. She watched until he was properly submerged, then turned on her heel. Only then did she remember that they had held their entire argument in front of dozens of strangers, most of whom were now staring in open interest at the spectacle she'd created. Great, she thought with a cringe. Way to keep a low profile.

She ignored the onlookers and walked coolly back to Sanchez and Derosa.

Derosa chuckled. "Well, you certainly put him in his place, I must say. You should invite him to the next party. I haven't had such fine entertainment in years."

"Happy to oblige," she said curtly.

Behind her, some of the other party-goers had taken pity on Jane and had helped him climb out of the pool. He looked like a drowned rat. A cold drowned rat—the water had probably been freezing.

She looked at Sanchez, her mouth a grim line. "Let's go."

Sanchez didn't argue.

As she turned and walked away, she could feel Jane's eyes on her every step of the way.

Xxx

Jane wisely did not attempt to contact her on Sunday.

Lisbon went to church, then spent the rest of the morning doing all her usual weekend chores. The rest of the day she spent holed up in her apartment. Mostly, she watched mindless TV, trying not to stew over the debacle of the day before. And, well, everything that had come before.

She had limited success.

She dreaded facing Jane. On Monday, she dawdled in the morning, not eager to get to the office. She was sure he'd have plenty to say. There would be a reckoning, of that she was certain. The only question was what form it would take. Would he put on a show of being wronged and wounded? Would he give her the cold shoulder? Or—what she feared most of all—would he decide to psychoanalyze her behavior in the middle of the bullpen for the benefit of anyone who happened to be passing by?

To her relief, he hadn't arrived yet when she got in. She grabbed a cup of coffee from the break room and then retreated—no, dammit, she didn't _retreat_—marched into her office to begin the day's work.

Jane ambled in two hours later.

"You're late," she commented before she could stop herself.

"Sorry about that," Jane said breezily, tossing her a sack from Marie's. "Long line at the coffee shop."

Lisbon inspected the contents of the bag with some suspicion. There was a bear claw in there. Her favorite. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She pushed him into a pool, and now he was bringing her breakfast? She extracted the bear claw gingerly, just in case it was only a cover for something that was going to jump out at her like a jack in the box. She took a bite. Mm. If he'd poisoned it, at least it still tasted like a regular bear claw. "There was a two hour line at the coffee place?" she said skeptically.

"Oh, no. Only fifteen minutes or so. The other hour and forty-five minutes were just because it's a nice day today and I wanted to enjoy the sunshine before devoting the rest of my day to tedious drudgery," he said. "Besides, you said we could come in late."

"I meant the team," she said, exasperated. "As compensation for you badgering them into staying late for no reason." In truth, she'd forgotten about her rash offer from Friday night. She'd been the first one in and hadn't thought anything of the rest of the team not being there before she'd arrived.

He raised his eyebrows. "So you secretly wanted me to come in early so we could spend extra time together alone? Aw, Lisbon, I'm flattered."

She threw a bit of bear claw at him to distract him from her blush. "Oh, hush."

He grinned back at her.

What was this? He was acting so…normal. Well. Normal for Jane. Was he lulling her into a false sense of security? Was he going to launch a surprise attack later?

Oh, well. At least she was getting a bear claw out of the deal.

He perched on the corner of her desk. "So, my dear. What is on the agenda today?"

"Budget meeting this morning. Then following up on the Ramirez case." She made a face. "Then letting Van Pelt teach me about computer programming."

"Let her show off a little," he said with a smile. "It'll be good for her."

"Less good for me, though," Lisbon sighed. She eyed the pile of work on her desk that was doomed to be neglected in favor of 'Computer Geekery, 101.'

"Give me the Ramirez file," he said, extending his hand for it. "I'll figure it out while Van Pelt bores you to tears."

"Yeah?" Lisbon was surprised, but willing. She handed him the file. "Knock yourself out."

He took the file, then looked at her intently.

"You haven't told anyone about our little discussion by the pool, have you?"

She flinched. Here it came. "No," she said, wary. "Why?"

"I need you to not mention it to anyone."

She had no intention of bringing the topic up under any circumstances. The whole thing was humiliating enough. Still, she couldn't help but be suspicious. "Why not?"

"I want to see if Lorelei finds out about it somehow. If she mentions it, we'll know I was right about Red John's involvement in this assignment."

"Or that he's just following you around for some reason," Lisbon pointed out. An equally disturbing possibility.

"Unlikely," Jane said dismissively. "But in either case, it will confirm that he's passing messages to her."

Lisbon grimaced. "Do you think we can use that to flush out the messenger and trace him or her back to him?"

"Doubtful," Jane said. "But I suppose we'll have to try."

"Great," she said without enthusiasm. One more thing to worry about.

Jane stood. "I'll let you get to your budget meeting."

"Thanks," Lisbon said, glancing at the clock. That was surprisingly considerate of him. Normally Jane tried to persuade her to blow off budget meetings in favor of executing some scheme or another with him. She stood and shrugged into her blazer, then slowed. Was he planning to sabotage the budget meeting in some way as part of his revenge?

"Relax. You don't need to worry about the whole 'pushing me into the pool thing,'" he said, his voice soothing.

"Really?" That sounded too good to be true.

He nodded. "I won't be exercising any plots of revenge against you today."

"You won't?" she said, torn between hope and suspicion. Maybe he'd decided to give her a freebie because of all the crap he'd put her through over the past year. Hell, years. Lord knew she was due.

He grinned. "Not today. I haven't decided what form of revenge is best suited for this particular occasion. Tomorrow, on the other hand, is a different story. I should have plenty of time to decide by then."

She knew it was too good to be true. "You won't be too busy solving the Ramirez case and plotting against Red John?" she said pathetically.

"You know me, Lisbon," he said, heading for the door. "I excel at multi-tasking." He paused after crossing the threshold and popped his head back in. "That water was freezing, by the way." He grinned at her. "Have a great meeting!"

Lisbon shook her head, smiling. She snagged her bear claw and popped another bite in her mouth as she headed out the other door.

Xxx

"Here are the specs for the security system for facility access," Van Pelt explained, clicking on an icon on her screen and pulling up a list of gobbledygook that made Lisbon's head hurt just looking at it. "You should emphasize the design of the user controls – it's a simple interface that's easy for a non-techie to learn, so that should appeal to him."

Lisbon squinted at the screen. The gobbledygook still dominated the screen. "If you say so."

Van Pelt clicked her screen again. "If he asks about the automation features, you can talk about voice-controlled access – that's a big thing in the market right now. And let him know that all data transfers are protected with next-gen encryption technology, so even the government wouldn't able to crack it if they tried." She paused. "That part's a lie, though. I wrote the encryption key."

"That's great," Lisbon said without enthusiasm. She reminded herself that Van Pelt's contribution to this effort was critical, and forced herself to pat the younger woman on the shoulder. "You've really gone above and beyond on this, Grace. You've done some really impressive work here." Which was true, even if Lisbon would rather jump out of a plane without a parachute than look at any more evidence of Van Pelt's impressive work at this exact moment.

Van Pelt beamed. "Thanks, boss."

"Time for a break," Jane announced, setting down two cups of coffee in front of Lisbon and Van Pelt. "You've been at it for three hours straight."

"Have we?" Van Pelt said, surprised. "Boy, it went by fast, didn't it?"

Lisbon tactfully refrained from answering. She picked up the coffee gratefully. "Thanks, Jane."

Jane went back to the break room to retrieve his own cup, then settled in on his couch with his tea. "So how's it going? Is Lisbon ready to hack into the NSA and tell us all the nation's secrets yet?"

"She's doing great," Van Pelt enthused. "She's picked it up really fast."

Three hours sure didn't feel fast to Lisbon. She grimaced.

"Ah, the rewards of diligence and hard work," Jane said, grinning. "Trust Lisbon to pick something up if it can be done by sheer bull-headed determination and slavish devotion to duty."

She made a face at him and took another sip of her coffee.

"That was a compliment, woman," he chided her. "Honestly, don't you—"

Her phone rang, interrupting him. It wasn't the standard ring, though—it was the ringtone Van Pelt had programmed to signal her that it was the second line. The one dedicated to the purpose of hooking Derosa and hopefully, bringing down his empire.

Lisbon set her coffee down with a clatter and straightened. She leapt to her feet and hit send. "Symbient Solutions, Monica Altera speaking," she said, hoping she sounded like the cool and detached professional project manager she was pretending to be despite the pounding of her heart.

"Monica," Derosa's booming voice carried through the line. "Frank Derosa here."

"Tell him I said 'hi,'" Jane said in a stage whisper.

Lisbon waved him off and walked toward her office so she could hold the conversation without further interruptions. "Mr. Derosa. How nice to hear from you. What can I do for you today?"

"I've been thinking about that program you mentioned the other day," Derosa said gruffly. "There's a possibility my company may be in the market for something like that. I was wondering if you have some time to tell me a little more about it."

Lisbon's heart leapt. "Sure, I'd be happy to. Is there sometime next week that would work for you? I can set something up."

He cleared his throat. "This week would be better."

"Hm," Lisbon said, her mind whirring as she shut the door behind her. Remembering her fictional conference in Vegas, she said, "I'm traveling on Thursday and Friday, unfortunately. Would you like me to set up a call for tomorrow or Wednesday to go over the details?"

"I'd prefer to have the meeting in person, if you can manage it," Derosa said.

"Of course," Lisbon said, suppressing the urge to do a dance of triumph. "I'm sure that can be arranged. Just let me know which day is better for you and I can set up a demo for you."

"I'm actually out of town myself at the moment," Derosa said. "Up in Fish Rock. Little town just north of Sea Ranch. I know it's an imposition, but is there any way you could possibly drive up here tomorrow?"

"Hang on one sec," Lisbon said, remembering Jane's advice that when running a con, it was always best to play hard to get. "Let me check my calendar." She sat down at her computer and unlocked it, then opened the calendar application. She stared at the entry for the following day. Zero appointments scheduled. "I've got a meeting with one of our vendors in the morning tomorrow. Would late afternoon be okay?"

"Perfect," Derosa said, sounding pleased. He gave her the details of where to meet him and rang off.

She pocketed her phone, heart still pounding, and walked over to her door so she could go let Briggs know about this development.

When she opened it, Sanchez, Jane, Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho were all hovering outside it, waiting with undisguised interest to hear the outcome of the phone call.

She blinked at Sanchez. "What are you doing here?"

"Van Pelt called me," he said impatiently. "So? What happened? Did Derosa take the bait?"

Lisbon grinned. "Hook, line, and sinker."

Xxx

"No," Jane said. "Absolutely not."

Lisbon, Jane, Sanchez, and Briggs were in Briggs' office, discussing logistics for the next phase of the plan.

Jane had not been invited to this meeting. Being Jane, that hadn't stopped him.

Briggs looked at him, surprised. "What exactly is it that you object to, Jane?"

"You want to send her out into the middle of nowhere to meet a weapons dealer with no backup," Jane said flatly. "That's what I object to."

"Jane, we've been waiting for this," Lisbon said, exasperated. "It's the next phase of the plan."

"The plan was to set up a fake office full of CBI agents pretending to be computer nerds," Jane argued. "Not for you to drive three and a half hours away from civilization for a one on one with a man who sells guns to criminals."

"This is a low risk mission," Briggs said. "She's not trying to bust him, or even collect any evidence. She's just going to meet with him and demo the product. That's it."

"Besides," Sanchez piped up. "She's not going alone. We'll drive up there together."

Jane ignored him. He looked at Lisbon. "It could be a trap."

"There's nothing to indicate that Derosa suspects Lisbon," Briggs protested. "There's no reason to suspect this is anything other than a simple business meeting."

Lisbon remained silent. She knew Jane feared not a trap from Derosa, but one from Red John. And when it came to Red John, Jane was very rarely reasonable.

"Why would he insist on her driving so far out of the way?" Jane said stubbornly. "If it's not a trap, why isolate her from all her contacts here in Sacramento?"

Sanchez shook his head. "Your logic is flawed. If he wanted to set up a trap, he could have just as easily done it here in Sacramento. Why would he go so far out of _his_ way, if it's a trap?"

"Nobody asked you, Sanchez," Jane snapped.

"Nobody asked _you_, Jane," Sanchez said, annoyed. "Last I checked, I was part of this team, not you. What are you even doing here, anyway, besides preventing the rest of us from doing our jobs?"

A muscle in Jane's jaw ticked as he opened his mouth to deliver a scathing retort.

Lisbon decided it was time to intervene. "All right, enough," she said, her voice firm. "Jane, I understand your concern, but it's my decision. I'm going. We can't let the opportunity go to waste."

Jane looked at her long and hard. "Can I speak to you outside for a minute?" he said abruptly.

"Fine," she said curtly. She glanced at Sanchez and Briggs. "I'll be right back."

Jane opened the door for her and she preceded him into the hallway.

The minute the door closed, she held up her hand to forestall him. "I know what you're going to say."

"Really?" Jane said sarcastically. "That's amazing. You should take that show on the road."

"You think this is all a trap set up by Red John."

"You're right. I do think that. Knowing that, how can you even consider taking that kind of risk?"

She wanted to shake him. "Jane, there is absolutely no evidence that Red John has anything to do with any of this."

"The cantaloupe, Lisbon! Remember the cantaloupe!"

She sighed. "Jane, I know the situation in Vegas was… a setback."

He made a 'huh' noise that expressed what an incredible understatement he considered this to be. Lisbon continued, undeterred. "I know you're disappointed that your con didn't work out the way you hoped it would. But this operation is independent of the Red John investigation. You're seeing shadows where none exist."

"So it was shadows, was it, that killed Wainwright?" Jane said sarcastically. "Shadows that exposed the operation to Red John through the FBI?"

"That has nothing to do with this!"

"So you say."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Do you have any actual evidence to support the theory that Derosa is connected to Red John?"

"That's not how he operates, Lisbon! You know that."

"All right, let's leave evidence aside for the moment. Do you have _any_ logical reason _whatsoever_ to suspect some element of this operation may be a trap?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "He's gearing up for something. Why else would he have Lorelei constantly baiting us?"

Lisbon could think of a few reasons, and none of them had anything to do with Derosa. "To distract you, for one thing," she said. "You losing focus is a big win for him."

"This isn't about distracting me! He's threatening you."

"Even if you're right—"

"I am," Jane said with obnoxious certainty.

"Even _if_ you're right," Lisbon persisted. "Why take the trouble of involving Derosa? Why bother luring me out of town?"

"Like I said," Jane said, aggrieved. "To isolate you from the team."

Lisbon shook her head. "Why not just come after me here? He had Bosco killed in this building, surrounded by members of his team. If he really wants to get me, it won't matter where I am, or who is around me. You and I both know that."

Jane's entire body jerked backwards as though he'd been physically struck. The color drained from his face. "No," he croaked. "That can't—that's not going to happen."

"I'm not saying this to upset you," Lisbon said tiredly. "I'm just trying to get you to see reason. We need to acknowledge the reality of the situation."

He jerked his head upwards in a gesture of acknowledgment. "So…the operation?"

"I appreciate your concern, Jane," Lisbon said. "I really do. But I need you to back off on this."

He looked ill. "I—"

Lisbon cut him off. "This isn't a negotiation. I'm going to meet Derosa tomorrow. The only question is, can I count on you to stay here and not do anything to interfere? Because I gotta say, I'm getting pretty sick of you undermining me in front of my colleagues every time I make a move on this case."

This roused him a little. "I'm not undermining you," he said indignantly.

"What do you call barging into meetings uninvited and throwing a hissy fit every time I try to proceed with the next logical step of the investigation?" Lisbon said, exasperated. "These people don't know you, Jane. To them, I'm your supervisor. How do you think it makes me look when instead of respecting my decisions and my authority, you act like somebody's trying to take away your pet chicken whenever I happen to work with someone other than you?"

"Briggs and Sanchez know me well enough not to let my actions influence their perception of you," he said dismissively. "They know what a great cop you are." He hesitated. "But I…recognize that my concern for your safety could maybe, possibly be misinterpreted by people who don't know us." He looked pained. "And really, Lisbon? A pet chicken? That's the best analogy you could come up with?"

She shrugged. "If the shoe fits."

"That's not how I think of you," Jane said firmly.

"I'm relieved to hear it," Lisbon said dryly.

"I still think it's a bad idea," Jane said, but he sounded more like his usual self. "Even if Red John isn't involved, I don't see why you should let Derosa manipulate you into going out of your way for him."

"Jane, you of all people know that you can't control every element of an operation like this, no matter how well you plan it out in advance. Sometimes you just have to take the opportunities as they come and try to make the most out of them."

"I wish you'd never accepted this assignment," Jane sighed. "It's making everything more complicated."

"Red John isn't the only bad guy in the world," Lisbon said softly. "I'm not like you, Jane. I didn't sign up for this to bring down one man. I have to protect people from threats from every possible angle that I can. Can you understand that?"

"I understand it," he said, looking into her eyes in that way he did that made her feel like he was turning her soul inside out just by looking at her. "I just don't like it very much at the moment."

She tilted her head to the side. "So…we good?"

He continued to look at her intently. "Promise you'll be careful?" he said quietly.

"I promise," she said, just as quietly.

He sighed. "All right."

"Okay, then," Lisbon said. "Let's get back in there."

She turned and pushed the door to Briggs' office open again, Jane following meekly behind.

Briggs looked up when they entered. He raised his eyebrows. "Everything all set?"

She nodded. "Yes. We'll proceed with the plan as originally discussed." They spoke a few minutes longer about the logistics. Jane remained conspicuously silent.

When they'd finalized the last of the details, Lisbon thanked Briggs and told Sanchez she would meet him downstairs at the van pool when it was time to leave. Then she bade her fellow agents good night and headed for the door. Jane followed.

"Hey, Jane." The sound of Sanchez's voice stopped them.

Lisbon paused on the threshold. Jane turned back to face him. "Yes?"

Sanchez avoided looking at Lisbon and kept his eyes on Jane. "I'll watch out for her tomorrow. You have my word."

Lisbon's eyes went wide. What the hell?

She glanced at Briggs, but he didn't look at her either. Only the tiniest relaxing of the muscles around his eyes betrayed his satisfaction with Sanchez's declaration as he sat back in his chair, the rest of his face impassive. Apparently while she'd been having a word with Jane, Briggs had been having his own word with Sanchez. She narrowed her eyes. She didn't even want to think about what word had prompted this completely inappropriate and unnecessary assurance.

Jane studied Sanchez's face for a long moment without saying anything. Then, finally, he extended his hand to the other man to offer it for a handshake. "Thanks, Sanchez."

Sanchez shook his hand eagerly and grinned in relief. "Anytime, man."

Lisbon huffed in exasperation and turned on her heel. Men!

Xxx

At noon the following day, Lisbon headed down to the van pool to meet Sanchez. Jane got up from his couch as she was preparing to leave and announced he would escort her to the garage. Lisbon didn't argue.

They beat Sanchez down to the garage.

Lisbon glanced at Jane. "You really don't have to wait with me, you know."

"Meh," he said, rocking on his heels and looking into the distance. "Nothing better to do."

"I hope I can remember all that technical crap Van Pelt tried to teach me," she said, a flutter of anxiety in her stomach.

"You'll be fine," Jane said, unconcerned. "Derosa's a Luddite. If he asks any questions you don't know the answer to, just throw around a few buzzwords. Then try to work in a subtle insult to Sanchez and you'll be all set."

Lisbon frowned. "What does Sanchez have to do with anything? He won't even be in the meeting. He's just coming along to assess the location."

"You're an attractive woman, Lisbon. Derosa will want to impress you," Jane explained, as though explaining to a first grader that one plus one equals two. "He believes you're in a relationship with Sanchez, so to him, he's the ideal of manhood he has to beat in order to make himself impressive in your eyes."

"This is a business meeting! Derosa isn't going to hit on me in the middle of a software demo," Lisbon scoffed.

"That has nothing to do with it. He knows rationally that he can't compete with Sanchez for your affections because Sanchez is younger and much more attractive than he is. But subconsciously, he will still seek your approval. So if you said something like, 'oh, my boyfriend never gets this stuff, but I know a successful businessman like you would have no trouble grasping these kinds of details,' he'll see that as an opportunity to prove his masculinity in a way that Sanchez can't. So even if he doesn't have a clue what you're talking about, he'll pretend that he does so he can remain impressive in your eyes."

"Hm," Lisbon said. The scenario Jane described sounded disturbingly familiar. Her last date came to mind.

"I got you something for the trip," Jane announced.

She looked at him in surprise. "You did?"

He handed her a packet of peanut M&M's.

Lisbon looked down at the yellow packet in her hand. "Uh…thanks."

"You haven't eaten yet," Jane informed her. "You need to keep up your strength for the con."

"We'll grab something on the road," Lisbon said, trying to hand the package back to him.

He took hold of her wrist with one hand and closed her fingers over the package with the other. "Keep it for later, then. If it goes well, you can eat them to celebrate. If it goes badly…" he shrugged. "M&M's make everything better."

"All right," she said stupidly. Her cheeks felt hot. Goddammit. It was absolutely ridiculous to blush over a packet of M&M's, especially considering all the crap between her and Jane of late. She flashed on the moment he'd taken her hand in the desert and flushed even more deeply. It had felt just like this. Except without the candy. And he hadn't been gazing at her with that look on his face, the one that she couldn't quite read, except it looked a lot like the look he'd had on his face when he'd told her he loved her before pretending to forget all about it. She wished he would let her hand go. Somehow, though, she couldn't quite bring herself to pull away.

"Hey, guys," Sanchez said a little breathlessly, jogging up behind them. "Sorry I'm late."

Lisbon jerked away from Jane so violently she nearly caused the bag of M&M's to explode. "Hey," she said, flustered. She clutched the M&M's in a death grip. "You ready to go?"

Sanchez looked back and forth between them. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah," she said curtly. She didn't look at Jane. "See you later, Jane," she mumbled, opening the car door.

"Safe travels," he said, closing the door behind her once she'd settled into the driver's seat. Lisbon stuffed the M&M's into the cup holder in the center console and fumbled with the keys while Sanchez climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.

She started the car and gave Jane a half-hearted wave as she backed out of the parking spot.

Sanchez raised his eyebrows. "What was that about?"

Lisbon's mouth tightened. She punched the radio dial. "You like classic rock?"

"Actually, I'm more of a—" Sanchez began.

Lisbon cranked up the volume.

"Okay, then," Sanchez said, and sat back for the ride.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: No Jane in this chapter, but hopefully the next one makes up for it!

xxx

Three hours later, Lisbon glanced out the window at the beautiful stretch of coastline to her left. _Jane would love this_, she thought before she could stop herself. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, irritated with herself for not being able to get through a simple drive without Jane sneaking his way into her thoughts.

Sanchez held up his phone by the window. "Cell service is for shit up here," he commented. "I haven't been able to get a signal anywhere in the past twenty-five miles."

"Mm," she said, distracted. A large cargo ship was docked in the next curve of the coast. She frowned. "That's weird." She nudged him. "You see that?"

"What, the ship?" he said, craning his neck to look at it as they passed. "What of it?"

"There's no commercial port up here. What is it doing so far north of San Francisco?"

He shrugged. "Must be a private dock for the logging companies. There's a bunch of timber mills in this area."

"I suppose," she said, unconvinced. She leaned back in her seat and told herself to stay focused on the task at hand. Namely, selling Derosa a bill of goods.

Against her will, her mind drifted back to Jane again. What was with him, anyway? Ever since he'd gotten back from Vegas, he'd been all over the place. Kissing Lorelei, then alternating between flirting, cryptic emotional statements, and manic paranoia about her safety, often within the space of a single day. And now it seemed he'd somehow gotten Briggs and Sanchez on his side. She thought this was distinctly unfair, given all the crap Jane had pulled on this operation. They should have just let her handle him, but instead, that scene in Briggs' office had suddenly turned the whole thing into some kind of bizarre pact among a most unlikely brotherhood.

"What did Briggs say to you yesterday?" she asked Sanchez abruptly.

Sanchez looked like a deer in the headlights. "Uh—"

"When me and Jane were in the hall," Lisbon clarified.

He shifted in his seat. "What makes you think he said anything in particular to me?"

"Your little declaration that you would protect me like a damn damsel in distress, that's what," Lisbon said grimly. "You've been just as annoyed as me at Jane constantly interrupting this operation. Then suddenly you're offering to watch over me like I'm his girlfriend instead of his boss."

Sanchez looked chagrined. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I know you can handle yourself. It's just—"

She looked at him sharply, then returned her eyes to the road. "What?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Tell me," Lisbon said, her tone brooking no argument.

He blew out a breath. "Well, this is going to be humiliating."

Lisbon frowned. "What? Why?"

He cleared his throat. "I don't know if you know this, but… well, I've always had a bit of a crush on you."

Lisbon's brow furrowed. "You have?"

"Yeah," he said heavily. "But you never looked twice at me. But then we started working on this case together and it seemed like we were getting along pretty well. So I thought maybe, after the case was over, I might have a shot at convincing you to go out with me."

Lisbon felt a flush creeping up her neck. "Oh," she said lamely. But then—"What does that have to do with Briggs?"

He sighed. "He gave me a reality check."

Lisbon waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. "What does that mean?"

Sanchez grimaced. "He saw I was winding up Jane. When you guys stepped out into the hall, he hit me on the back of the head and asked me if I wanted to spend the rest of my life quacking like a duck."

She glanced at him. "Quacking like a duck?"

"Come on," he said, pained. "You know what Jane's like."

She did know what Jane was like. "So?"

He squirmed. "So Briggs reminded me that if I made a move on you, Jane wasn't likely to be too happy about it. And with Jane… well, life pretty much isn't worth living if you get on his bad side, you know? I mean, Powalski took the last of the tea in the break room once and Jane hypnotized him into talking like the Queen of England for a week. Besides, Briggs told me I had zero chance with you anyway, so I'd better give it up and see what I could do to get Jane to stop freaking out about you being on this assignment so he would calm down and help instead of derailing every little step along the way. He told me I could either make peace with Jane, or you know… the duck thing."

Lisbon scowled. "I see. So my opinion has no bearing on any of this."

He stared at her, surprised. "What does that mean? Wait…" His face broke out into a grin. "Does that mean I _did_ have a shot?"

Her face heated up again. She reached over and punched him on the arm. Hard. "Shut up," she said, but she was smiling.

Sanchez grinned. "I take it back. I'm sure I'll be very happy in my future as a duck."

She shook her head, still smiling. "I'm flattered. I really am. But, well… I don't think it's a good idea."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I figured you'd say that."

"Not because of Jane," she added quickly. _Liar,_ her brain said in silent judgment. "Just… we work together," she said awkwardly. "It's… yeah. Not a good idea."

"Ah," Sanchez said, miming pulling a knife from his chest. "Lisbon giveth, and Lisbon taketh away."

She patted him on the shoulder she'd just punched. "Hey, for what it's worth, I think you might have been the best boyfriend I ever had."

"God, that's sad," Sanchez said, laughing.

"Tell me about it," Lisbon muttered.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Best kisser, too?"

She shook her head, smiling as she returned her gaze to the road. "You were pretty far up there, I'd say. Let's just leave it at that."

He grinned again. "Quack, quack."

Lisbon rolled her eyes, but a smile still pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Oh, hush."

Sanchez sat back and drummed his fingers on the center console. "How much farther, do you think?"

Lisbon checked the GPS. "We're almost there. The address he gave me is just a couple miles north of here."

Just north of the town of Fish Rock, they passed a large warehouse with a semi truck parked in front of it, partially obscured by the thick forest around it. Lisbon leaned forward. "I think it's the next left. About half a mile up the road from here."

"I think you'd better drop me at the edge of the property line," Sanchez said. "We don't want him to catch sight of me when you're doing your sales pitch. I'll have a look around, see if I can get an idea of whether he's storing any of the weapons up here."

Lisbon agreed. Accordingly, she let Sanchez out when she turned onto the gravel road that led to Derosa's property, then proceeded up the drive while Sanchez slipped into the surrounding woods on foot.

Xxx

She parked on a curved drive in front of a beautiful modernist home nestled among a stand of tall, dignified cypress trees. She took her briefcase from the trunk and knocked on the front door.

Derosa opened the door a moment later, holding a tumbler of scotch. "Monica," he said, beaming. "You made it! Please, come in."

"Wow," Lisbon said, looking around once he'd ushered her past the foyer into the living room. Massive picture windows afforded a stunning view of the ocean from the house's cliff side vantage point. "This place is incredible."

Derosa looked pleased. "Glad you like it. It's my little indulgence. My favorite getaway."

"It's beautiful," Lisbon said sincerely, reflecting that sometimes, crime really did pay.

"Come on," he said. "I'll give you the tour."

He showed her every room in the house, proudly demonstrating all the little improvements he'd made since he'd acquired the property. Lisbon mentally took note of every place that seemed a likely hiding spot for damning evidence.

They ended in the study, a lavish room with built in book cases and more stunning views of the ocean. Lisbon got out the laptop Van Pelt had set up for her, and she walked Derosa through the features of each program according to Van Pelt's instructions. Jane had been right. Derosa seemed impressed and asked very few questions.

"This is wonderful," he enthused. "Just what my organization needs. Do you have a pricing sheet I could look at?"

Lisbon smiled, truly pleased. It was pretty great when the Trojans not only willingly dragged the horse concealing their enemies inside the city gates, but also offered to pay for the pleasure. "Of course."

They discussed the financials for a few minutes, then arranged a day the following week for Lisbon to walk him through the set up once he had the product in hand. Lisbon felt like doing a jig. One week, and they'd have nearly unlimited access to communications, video, calendar details…everything they'd need to take down Derosa's operation once and for all.

She kept her face smooth. "Yes, Tuesday next week will be fine."

Derosa beamed. "Excellent." He clapped his hands together. "Now, tell me I can persuade you to stay for dinner, after that long drive."

"Can I take a raincheck?" Lisbon asked. Her mission accomplished, she was eager to get out of there. "I've got an early meeting tomorrow and I still need to prepare for my trip."

"Of course," Derosa said. "Again, thanks for coming all the way up here to meet with me. I know it's a bit of a trek."

"Not a problem. Glad I could help out."

Derosa walked her to the door. "Seriously, I owe you big time. You and Nick should come up here next time you want to get out of the city and stay here at the house. I can leave a key for you with the owner of Sal's, downtown."

"We may take you up on that," Lisbon said, smiling. She hoped her desperation to get out of there wasn't plastered all over her face.

"Anytime," Derosa said, opening the door. "Just let me kn—" He stopped short. Two surly men stood on the doorstep. Derosa frowned, clearly displeased. "What are you doing here?"

"We've come to talk about the goods transfer," one of them said, looking equally displeased. "Scalzi wants us to oversee it."

Lisbon froze, then hastily tried to cover her reaction. Scalzi? She knew that name. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. This was bad.

Derosa glanced at Lisbon. "Of course," he said, attempting to paint a civilized façade over his obvious anger. "Monica, I'm terribly sorry, I hope you will excuse me."

"Yes, of course," Lisbon said quickly. "We'll catch up later."

"Who's this?" the first man asked, pointing at her. The second spared her a glance, and that was when she recognized him. Rudy Guidall, a perp she'd busted seven years ago for aggravated assault. Given the man's known ties to organized crime, she'd argued for the maximum sentence, but the judge had only given him six years of jail time. Now, apparently, he was out of jail and back to his old habits. This was _very_ bad.

Guidall stared at her. "Do I know you?"

She attempted an ingratiating smile. "You know, you do look kind of familiar. Are you a friend of James?"

"James Ducetti?" he said, still staring at her. "Yeah."

"I feel like maybe I met you at his house one time," she said, her heart beating rapidly in her throat. "That was a long time ago, though. I haven't spoken to him in ages. What about you? You seen him lately?"

"Yeah…" he said, still staring. "Yeah, I seen him."

"Well, next time you see him, tell him Monica says hi," she said, her voice falsely bright.

"Sure," he said, his eyes still fixed on hers.

She turned and kissed Derosa on the cheek. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Yeah," he said, distracted. "Sure thing, Monica. I'll give you a call next week."

She edged out the door and brushed past the two men, her heart hammering.

Guidall turned and stared after her.

Lisbon focused on keeping her pace even and measured and didn't let herself look back until she reached the car. She opened the back door and tossed the briefcase in the back, then watched as Derosa's two visitors turned and shouldered their way into Derosa's house. Derosa did not look happy.

She got into the driver's seat, her mind racing. What the hell was Guidall doing here? He wasn't part of Derosa's operation, she was certain of it. She didn't recognize the other man, so no clues there. He'd mentioned Scalzi. _Adrian_ Scalzi? As in, number three on the FBI's most wanted list? The man sold weapons to the largest terrorist organizations in the world. Way out of Derosa's league. Or so she'd thought.

She hesitated, her keys in the ignition. The smartest thing to do would be to go find Sanchez, get the hell out of Fish Rock, and report the intel to Briggs. But the implications of a possible relationship between Derosa and Scalzi were staggering. She desperately wanted to know more.

Curiosity got the better of her. She got out of the car, grabbed her gun, and tucked it at the small of her back. She closed the door quietly, then cursed every crunch of gravel beneath her feet between her and the front door. When she reached it, she gingerly tried the knob—still open.

She could always say she forgot something if they caught her, she reasoned as she crept down the hall back down towards the study. Of course, that wouldn't do much good if Guidall remembered who she really was.

She stepped as silently as possible as she made her way down the hall, following the sound of agitated voices. She pressed her back against the wall next to the study door and tried to listen over the sound of her clamoring heart.

"What the hell do you mean by barging in here like this, Huxley?" Derosa said, furious. "I told you – my people transport the product. You guys make sure the cargo is set when it gets to the dock. That's the deal."

"Relax," Huxley said lazily. "Scalzi wants to make sure that you're not holding back any product from the shipment. Consider this… a surprise inspection. Standard oversight procedure."

Derosa cursed loudly. "I should never have signed on with you people. Damned micro-managers."

"Hey, you didn't have to answer the call when Scalzi reached out to you," Huxley pointed out. "You were the one who wanted to expand your market. Can't blame Scalzi for wanting to make sure he gets what he's paid for."

Derosa cursed again.

"Who was that woman?" Guidall asked abruptly. "I swear I've seen her before."

"She said she met you at Ducetti's place," his comrade said impatiently. "You got amnesia now? It was like three minutes ago."

"No," Guidall said slowly. "No, that wasn't it. I know her from somewhere else." Oh, crap.

"So, we going to do this?" Huxley said

"What was she doing up here?" Guidall asked Derosa. Lisbon winced.

"She's a friend," Derosa said dismissively. "Just up for a visit." Lisbon was relieved he didn't seem to want his guests to know about his interest in the security software from the fake tech company. She didn't want Guidall remembering her in any kind of professional context.

"What'd she say her name was?"

"Her name's Monica Altera," Derosa said, annoyed. "What's it to you?"

"How do you know her?" Guidall persisted.

"What does it matter?" Derosa said impatiently. "Are we going to get on with the business at hand, or what? The transport's supposed to leave a little over an hour from now. If you insist on watching the loading process, hadn't we better get a move on?"

"Her name's not Altera," Guidall said flatly. "I know that woman. I do."

"Derosa's right," Huxley said. "We don't have time to worry about some chick you banged in a previous life. Let's get going."

Lisbon heard the tap of phone keys, then a sharp intake of breath. "Son of a bitch," Guidall breathed. "She's a cop."

Oh, _shit_. Lisbon froze.

Deathly silence followed this pronouncement. "What the fuck do you mean, she's a cop?" Huxley demanded.

"See for yourself," Guidall said. He handed Huxley his phone. "She's the fucking cop who put me in jail!"

This was her cue to get the hell out of Dodge. She inched down the hall back the way she'd come, hardly daring to breathe. Surely this hallway hadn't been five miles long when she'd come down it in the first place, had it?

She could still hear their voices, loud and clear.

"She's—she's a cop?" Derosa said, stunned. Then he swore. "That little bitch!"

Huxley rounded on him. "You little rat bastard—you set us up!"

"No!" Derosa said, panicked. "I didn't! I didn't know, I swear!"

Lisbon heard the sound of a weapon being drawn and then the click of the safety being removed. "You working for the feds?" Huxley snarled. "What did you tell her about us?"

Lisbon hesitated. She needed to leave. Three very angry criminals on the other side of a thin wall now knew she was a cop and that she could identify all three of them. But she couldn't just stand here and let them kill Derosa practically right in front of her, could she? She felt for her weapon at the small of her back and calculated her odds. They weren't good.

The sound of shots fired nearly made her heart stop. But they didn't come from the other side of the wall—they had come from outside. Her heart stalled again. _Sanchez_.

"The fuck was that?!" Guidall said, panicked.

Derosa didn't wait for them to deliberate further on the matter. Lisbon heard a loud crash and then the sound of heavy footsteps running for the door.

"Son of a bitch!" Huxley howled. "That little cocksucker broke my nose!"

Lisbon didn't wait to hear more. The time for stealth was over. She sprinted for the door as fast as she could.

"Son of a bitch!" Huxley's voice came from behind her now. "She's still here! You go after her—I'll get Derosa!"

She heard Guidall's grunt of agreement and flung open the front door just in time to hear shots whizzing over her head. The lintel over the door splintered as she dashed through the doorway.

She ran outside and bolted for the car. Sanchez was racing towards it from fifty paces away, another man in a dark leather jacket puffing up the drive behind him, gun in hand.

"Lisbon, your six!" he shouted, bringing his gun up and aiming it at a point behind her. Guidall aimed several wild shots in his direction. The guy in the leather jacket slumped to the ground, caught in the cross fire, but the next shot hit its mark—Sanchez fell with a cry, his leg buckling beneath him. She didn't stop to think—she dropped to the ground and rolled to the side just as Guidall's thundering footsteps caught up with her. Taken aback by the unexpected move, Guidall paused, trying to adjust his aim at her and keep an eye on Sanchez at the same time. She didn't wait for him to make up his mind. From the ground, she swept her leg around in a wide arc and knocked his legs out from under him. He landed with a curse and a heavy thud. She scrambled to her feet and drew her weapon, but she'd miscalculated. He still had his weapon-he swung it around and brought it to bear before she had time to raise hers, aiming it directly at her heart.

Before she could draw a breath, a shot rang out and Guidall slumped back onto the gravel, a hole in his throat. Lisbon kicked his weapon away, but it didn't matter—he was dead. She turned to Sanchez, blood seeping down one leg but back on his feet with his gun raised. He kept his weapon at the ready position and swept the surroundings with his eyes, looking tense. "Come on," he said grimly. "Let's go."

Xxx

xxx

"What the hell happened?" Lisbon gasped as she peeled up the drive, churning up gravel in her wake.

Sanchez clutched at his wounded leg. "I was a damn idiot, that's what happened. I didn't find anything walking along the perimeter, so I decided to check out that warehouse we saw on the way up here. I thought I could use the trees for cover, but I must have stepped on a friggin' twig or something, because one of the three guys guarding the main entrance looked up just at the wrong moment and spotted me. I headed back into the trees, but they sent one of the guys to chase after me." He grimaced. "I think one of them recognized me from one of those parties. Anyway, I guess he put two and two together, because he decided to shoot first and ask questions later."

"We'd better go this way, then," Lisbon decided, pulling a sharp left as she reached the end of the drive. She accelerated, eager to put some distance between them and the bad guys with guns. "There's a county road another mile north of here—we can take that and loop around. We need to get you to a hospital."

He shook his head. "I'm okay. We should stay on the road."

Lisbon glanced at his leg. There was a lot of blood, but he'd managed to staunch it reasonably well and to her admittedly inexpert eyes, at least, it didn't look critical.

"What happened with you?" Sanchez asked. "Why was that guy shooting at you? And what happened to Derosa?"

"I was an idiot, too," Lisbon confessed. As she sped up the road, she explained her ill-advised decision to go back into the house after recognizing Guidall, and everything she'd learned as a result.

"Shit," Sanchez breathed. "Derosa's supplying Scalzi? That guy channels weapons to half the major terrorist organizations in the world."

"Yeah," Lisbon said grimly. "It gets worse. You know that ship we passed?"

"Yeah."

"I'll bet you anything that they're loading the weapons from the warehouse into that truck and are planning to ship them out on that cargo ship later today. Possibly in the next couple hours. The semi is scheduled to leave in just over an hour from now, in any case. We need to get local PD in on this to help us shut it down."

Sanchez shook his head. "Forget it. This town is way too small for local PD not to notice this size of an operation going on under their noses. Derosa must be paying them off to look the other way."

Lisbon swore. "And still no cell service?"

Sanchez double checked. "Nope. So no backup from SWAT or a nice FBI chopper, either."

Lisbon tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she navigated a sharp curve at speed. "We can't let the weapons get onto that boat. If you're right about the local LEOs, we can't count on the local coast guard, either. If Derosa's people manage to get the weapons on that boat, they could make international waters in an hour. They'll get to Scalzi or his clients or whoever and the feds won't be able to touch them."

"What do you suggest?" Sanchez asked.

Lisbon thought fast. "I have an idea." She sped around another blind curve. "But you're not going to like it."

Xxx

"You were right," Sanchez said flatly when she explained her plan, such as it was. "I don't like it."

They were parked in the forest, a quarter of a mile south of the warehouse.

"It's the only way to make sure those weapons don't end up in the hands of terrorists," Lisbon said.

He gestured to his injured leg. "You realize that what you're suggesting is basically how I ended up getting shot in the first place, right? Except about a thousand times more dangerous."

"I can do it," Lisbon said, with more bravado than actual certainty.

"You really think you can pull this off by yourself?" he said skeptically. "Cause I hate to break it to you, but I'm not going to be much use with this leg."

"Look, you said there were three guys at the warehouse," Lisbon said. "Guidall took one of them out, so there's only two left. Derosa is busy running from Huxley, and Huxley's busy chasing Derosa. Even if they end up back at the warehouse, those are still better numbers than we're likely to face at the dock. The warehouse is our best shot."

"Four to one," he said. "This is your idea of favorable odds?"

"And the element of surprise," she said.

"What if Huxley called them and told them you're a cop and that you know what they're doing?"

"Then they probably assume I'm doing the sensible thing and running for my life," Lisbon pointed out. "They won't be expecting me to try to sabotage the operation after I successfully escaped."

"Fine. Say you get into the warehouse without them spotting you. What are you going to do then? What's your plan?"

"I'm going to assess the situation, and then do the most outrageous and destructive thing I can think of," Lisbon said. Off Sanchez's incredulous look, she added, "I'm channeling my inner Jane."

"That's the least reassuring thing you could have possibly said," Sanchez said, exasperated.

"There's no time to debate this," Lisbon said. "I'm going." She got out of the car and checked under the seat for her spare gun. Then she went to the trunk and took out the third gun for good measure, grabbing a couple of extra clips of ammo she devoutly hoped she wouldn't need.

She went back around to the front to check on Sanchez. He was pale, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. She glanced at the makeshift bandage the two of them had rigged up when they'd first stopped. "You promise you're not going to bleed to death?"

He smiled weakly. "Promise."

"Here." Lisbon reached into the cup holder and handed him the peanut M&M's Jane had given her that morning.

"M&M's?" he asked.

"M&M's make everything better," she said. She handed him one of the extra clips of ammunition. "Shoot anybody who comes close."

"Yes, ma'am."

She heard the tearing of the package and the crunch of the first M&M as she turned and disappeared into the trees.

xxx

xxx

She approached the warehouse from behind. There was a rear entrance, but no guard there. Cautiously and quietly, she circled around to the front of the warehouse. She scanned for additional security along the way but didn't see anyone else until she made it around to the front.

Acardi and a man she didn't know stood in front of the warehouse, smoking cigarettes and looking tense. A dark sedan was parked behind the semi.

Acardi blew out a long stream of smoke through his nostrils. "What the fuck is taking so long? Boss should have been here by now."

"He'll be here," the other man said. "No way is he going to miss an opportunity this big."

"What about Riva?"Acardi asked, tapping his box of cigarettes in a rat-a-tat rhythm that jarred against the peaceful backdrop of the woods. "He went after that guy half an hour ago. He should be back by now, too."

The other man shrugged. "You know Riva. He likes to take his time when he gets his hands on a potential kill. Besides, did you see that guy he went after? Looked like a gym rat. Riva is probably chugging like a choo-choo train just trying to run him down. I'm sure he'll be back once he feels he's made that dude regret making him run a couple miles through the woods."

"What was that guy doing poking his nose around here, anyway?" Acardi asked, still tense. He froze, struck. "You think he's a cop?"

"Nah," the other one said, unconcerned. "If he was a cop, this place would be swarming with feds right now."

"Who the hell was he, then?" Acardi demanded. "I seen that guy before. No way he's just some local mook out for a walk in the woods."

His companion shrugged. "Probably the competition. Kiyoshi Boys would be my guess." He spat on the ground. "They're always trying to edge into our turf."

Acardi's eyes widened. "What if he works for Scalzi?" he said, with dawning horror.

"If he works for Scalzi, Ravi will catch him and make him regret trying to mess us around," the other man said dismissively.

"Well, I still don't like it." Acardi checked his watch. "Maybe we should start loading the product," he said nervously. "We're cutting it close as it is."

"Yeah, all right. It's probably going to take a while if it's just the two of us." The other man stubbed out his cigarette. "Trust Ravi to get all the fun part of the job and leave the heavy lifting to us."

They went back into the warehouse.

Lisbon pulled her pocket knife out of her jeans and made her way over to the sedan as stealthily as possible. She didn't want to risk opening the hood and messing around with the engine, so she plunged the knife into the front tire as deeply as she could. She yanked the knife back out and eyed the semi, but her small knife would be no match for those commercial grade truck tires. She'd have to figure out some other way of incapacitating the truck. A problem for later—now she had to get back out of sight before they came back out.

She headed back to the trees, then looped back around to the rear of the warehouse again.

It was harder than she'd expected to leave the relative safety of the trees and cross into the open space behind the warehouse, but she did it, her heart pounding. When she got to the back door, she tested the handle, praying. Unlocked. She let out a breath. Finally, a piece of good luck.

She opened the door a crack, just enough to see whether the two men were still in the warehouse. The space was huge, full of large wooden crates of various sizes, all stamped with a logo with the words "Fish Rock Winery" on the tops and sides. She caught sight of Acardi and his partner huffing and puffing as they exited out the main entrance, carrying a heavy crate between them.

She darted inside and shut the door behind her as quickly and quietly as possible. She needed to get a look inside the crates to get a better idea of what she was dealing with.

It took several precious moments of her rapidly diminishing store of time, but she managed to find a crowbar and pry the lids off three of the crates nearest her without alerting the two men to her presence. She waited for them to come in and leave again with a second crate, then peered inside the first crate.

Holy crap.

The crate was full to the brim of explosives. Satchel charges, looked like, with M112 demolition blocks—military grade C4. Enough to take out a bridge.

She checked the next crate—it was full of assault weapons.

The last open crate held thirty anti-tank hand grenades.

The two men came back into the warehouse, grumbling now about how heavy the crates were as they picked up a third.

That gave her an idea. She tilted her head to the side, considering. This could be an opportunity. She wasn't an explosives expert by any means, but she knew enough to set the charges. Perhaps she could lighten the load for them, just a bit.

Sanchez was really not going to like this plan. And despite the idea being thoroughly Jane like, she was pretty sure Jane would hate it, too.

She didn't have the best sense of the blast radius of these things, so she gathered up as many of the satchel charges as she could carry without any risk of dropping any of them, and placed them at random intervals between the piles of crates. She worked methodically, starting at the edge of the warehouse and working her way in a spiral back to the center of the warehouse. Every time the two men came back inside for another crate, she paused and pressed her back up against the nearest wall or crate, staying well out of sight and hoping her heart wasn't beating so loudly they would hear it over their own exertions.

When she judged she'd laid out enough charges, she made her way back to the first three crates. She found the detonator for the satchel charges and read the instructions three times, wishing her last tactical refresher with the bomb squad didn't feel like so long ago. Then she snagged one of the grenades and slipped out the back door again.

She clutched the grenade in one sweaty hand and the detonator in the other and raced for the tree line. She looped back to the front of the warehouse and positioned herself in the stand of trees nearest the semi.

She carefully set the detonator on the forest floor and waited for the men to go back inside. Then, with trembling hands, she pulled the pin and flung the grenade as hard as she could into the open cargo hold of the truck.

The truck exploded into a ball of flame.

Acardi and his henchman ran out of the warehouse, shouting at each other. They pulled their guns and ran towards the truck, which Lisbon thought was pretty stupid, under the circumstances, but she didn't stick around to find out what they did next. She snatched up the detonator from the forest floor and ran like hell.

When she judged she was far enough away, she jammed her thumb down on the bright red button on the detonator without slowing down.

A deafening explosion shook the trees and a wall of heat sliced through her.

She'd misjudged the blast radius—the blast knocked her off her feet and sent her face first into the brush. She gasped into the dirt, inhaling fallen pine needles as she tried to re-orient herself despite the ringing in her ears. Finally she managed to flop over onto her back, still trying to catch her breath. She patted her abdomen, checking for injuries—she was unhurt, just shaken. She lolled her head to the side and saw that the warehouse had been pulverized. Its charred remains hissed and smoked as flames devoured what little was left of the structure. She took a deep breath, then another. Once she'd managed several breaths in a row without feeling like she was going to hyperventilate, she scrambled back to her feet and started running again.

She tore into the clearing where she'd left Sanchez five minutes later.

Seeing her burst out of the trees, wild-eyed, Sanchez stared at her. "What the fuck was that?! A ball of flame just shot up above the trees like God decided to smite the whole damn operation in one blow."

She didn't answer. She walked back over to the car and leaned her forehead against the back window behind the passenger seat, trying to catch her breath. "You doing okay?" she managed to huff after a moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It was just a graze." He did look better—some of his color had returned.

"Good," Lisbon said, dazed. She straightened and took another deep breath. Something sharp bit into the flesh of her palm. She looked down at her hand—she'd dropped the detonator in the woods when the explosion had knocked her down, but she was somehow still clutching the pin to the grenade. She forced her fingers to unclench and threw the pin away, feeling shaky and sick from the adrenaline.

Sanchez followed her gaze and stared. "Did you…?"

She sucked in a sharp breath. "We've got to go," she said shortly, and got in the car.

She drove all the way back to Sacramento with the pedal pushed to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Oh, man, you guys are the best. I thoroughly enjoyed all your theories about the M&Ms, but sadly, it never occurred to me to turn them into a tracking device. Apparently you all are much better at channeling your inner Jane than I am. :) Hope this chapter makes up for the lack of Jane in the last one - can't wait to hear what you think of it! Thanks for all your reviews- I truly treasure each one.

xxx

Jane was waiting for them when they got to the hospital a little before eight o clock in the evening, pacing in the waiting area like a caged animal. As soon as they'd re-entered cell phone range, Lisbon and Sanchez had called into HQ to deliver an abbreviated report and advised they would proceed directly to the hospital once they arrived in Sacramento.

Jane ceased his pacing and hurried up to her when he saw her come in behind a group of hospital staff pushing the protesting Sanchez down the hall on a gurney. "What the hell happened?" he demanded as the hospital staff wheeled Sanchez around the corner and out of sight.

Lisbon, still a bit shocky and wild-eyed, shook her head, unequal to the task of distilling the afternoon's events into anything remotely coherent just at that moment.

Jane ran his hands up and down her arms. "You're not hurt?" he asked anxiously.

She shook her head mutely.

"They're reporting a massive explosion on the news."

"Yeah," she said shakily. "It was…pretty bad."

"What happened to Derosa?"

"Don't know." Lisbon shuddered. "Either dead or in the wind, probably. Don't know which." She had no idea what kind of body count they'd left up there. Had the explosion she'd set off killed Acardi and the other man?

"You should have taken me," he scolded her. "You take Sanchez and look what happens."

She sucked in a sharp breath, imagining Jane stumbling onto the scene with all those men with guns and explosives. "I'm glad you weren't there," she said harshly.

Jane recoiled. He dropped his hands from her arms and took half a step back, injured by the vehemence in her tone.

She breathed again. "Those weren't just—those weren't people who got mad or hurt and just lashed out in the heat of the moment. Those were seriously bad guys, Jane. You would have pissed them off and they would have—have shot you or blown you up or—" Her voice was rising, her breath coming more shortly.

"Okay," Jane said soothingly. He pulled her into his arms. "Settle down."

"He saved my life," she mumbled into the front of his jacket. "Sanchez, I mean."

His arms tightened around her. "All right," he said softly, stroking her hair. "Perhaps he's not quite as useless as I originally thought."

She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. Getting a hug from Jane was much nicer when he wasn't getting ready to shoot you, she decided. She snuggled infinitesimally closer. His hand felt really good in her hair.

Jane's phone rang, startling them both. They broke apart, very unwillingly on Lisbon's part. Jane sighed heavily and checked the display, equally discontent with the interruption. He hit the send button. "Hey, Cho."

Jane kept his eyes on her as Cho asked him a question Lisbon couldn't hear. "Yes, she's here. Uh-huh…uh-huh…Yes, she's fine. Just shaken up a bit."

He frowned. "What? What on earth for?" He grimaced. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"What's he saying?" Lisbon asked.

"Cho, I'll call you back in a bit," Jane said, and hung up. "He says the CBI is swarming with feds. They all want to talk to you. Bertram says you're to head back to the office after you're done here."

"Tonight?" Lisbon said, dismayed. She sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, defeated. "All I wanted to do was go home and take the longest bath of my life."

"I think you should," Jane said, sitting down beside her. "Forget Bertram."

She shook her head. "They probably need me to make a statement. I did create a pretty big mess up there."

"You created the mess?" Jane repeated, surprised. He sat back in his chair. "You really need to tell me what happened."

She explained what had happened at Derosa's place with Scalzi's men, then all that came after.

When she finished, Jane stared at her, aghast. "You blew up a storehouse of weapons?"

"It was the only way I could think of to keep the weapons from ending up in the hands of terrorists," Lisbon defended.

"You said you'd be careful!" he accused.

"I was in a room full of explosives," Lisbon pointed out. "I was extremely careful."

A muscle ticked in his jaw and he looked away.

"Jane, I—"

Sanchez appeared then, hobbling on a pair of crutches. "All hail the conquering hero," he announced. "I have been discharged."

Lisbon stood, relieved. "That was quick."

"They gave me the VIP treatment. You know, hero cop shot on duty, yada yada yada." He flashed a grin as Jane stood, a beat behind. "Also, I think the M&M's helped. They have remarkable healing powers."

Jane looked at Lisbon, scandalized. "You gave him the M&M's? Those were for you!"

"He got shot!" Lisbon said defensively.

Sanchez smirked. "Jane. Thanks for waiting for me. I didn't know you cared."

Jane cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it appears I owe you a great debt," he said gruffly. "Thank you."

"All in a day's work," Sanchez said cheerfully.

"You're really all right?" Lisbon asked anxiously. "What did the doctor say?"

"Just a graze," Sanchez said. "Good thing for me what's his face was a lousy shot." He shifted on the crutches. "But I won't lie, I wouldn't mind getting off my feet sooner rather than later. Can I catch a ride back to HQ with you?"

"They're making you go back to the office, too?" Lisbon said, surprised. "You just got shot!"

Sanchez shrugged awkwardly over the crutches. "Briggs said that if I was conscious and not so drugged up that I couldn't complete full sentences, I was to report back there the minute I got released."

"Okay," Lisbon said dubiously.

"You'll probably be more comfortable in the backseat," Jane said to Sanchez. "Where you can stretch out your leg. I'll ride in front with Lisbon."

Sanchez smirked again. "So thoughtful of you, Jane. I know my comfort is first and foremost in your mind."

"What about your car?" Lisbon asked Jane.

"I took a cab over here," Jane said. "So we can all ride back together."

"All right," Lisbon said. "Let's go."

xxx

Van Pelt accosted Lisbon with a rib-cracking hug the moment she entered the bullpen. "Boss! Thank God you're all right."

Lisbon patted her on the back and looked around the bullpen. Cho and Rigsby were there, looking somber, as well as Briggs and six people she didn't know, all wearing blue windbreakers marked with the logos of different federal agencies. FBI, that was expected. Homeland, okay, that made sense, given the Scalzi connection. But what the hell were the U.S. Marshals doing here?

Briggs came forward and shook Sanchez's hand. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah," Sanchez said, leaning awkwardly on one crutch to free his hand to accept Briggs' handshake. He glanced around the assembled crowd. "I wasn't expecting such a welcome committee, though. What's the deal?"

Briggs raised his eyebrows. "The deal is, you and Lisbon exposed a connection between Derosa and international terrorism that we had no idea existed. All the feds want a piece of this." He clapped Sanchez on the shoulder. "I hope you got some good drugs at the hospital, my friend. It's going to be a long night."

"Okay," Sanchez said weakly. "I think I'm gonna need to sit down, though." He collapsed on Jane's couch without waiting for permission. "You don't mind, do you, Jane?" He smirked up at him. "Seeing as you're feeling so grateful to me and all at the moment."

Jane scowled but didn't object. Instead, he shifted closer to Lisbon, who by this point had extricated herself from Van Pelt's grasp with some difficulty.

One of the agents with the FBI logo stepped forward and extended his hand to Lisbon. "Special Agent John Wilkins, FBI," he said crisply. "Pleased to meet you, Agent Lisbon." He gestured behind him. "Meet Agents Tomey and Lieven, Homeland Security, and Soren and Montrose with the U.S. Marshals Service. And this is my partner, Agent Chen, also of the FBI."

Lisbon murmured something vague and polite as each of the agents stepped forward to shake her hand.

Agent Chen grinned at her. "Did you really blow up that warehouse of weapons to keep them from landing in the hands of terrorists?" he said, his eyes sparkling.

"Uh—" Lisbon said, disarmed.

"Yes, she did," Sanchez piped up from the couch.

"Nice going," Chen said approvingly.

Agent Lieven, a tall, dour woman with militarily erect posture, frowned at him. "It was a terribly risky move."

"Yeah," Chen said affably. "That's what makes it so badass!"

Lieven paused. "I suppose it was pretty badass," she said grudgingly. "Nice work, Agent Lisbon. And Sanchez," she added doubtfully. "I suppose you helped, too."

"Just with the running away from bad guys and shooting one of them," Sanchez said from the couch cheerfully. "The blowing stuff up part was all Lisbon."

"We'll need to take statements from both of you," Wilkins said briskly. "I'm sure you both understand how critical your information could be to the United States government, given all you've seen and heard today." He addressed the agents with him in turn. "Tomey and Montrose, the three of us will take Agent Lisbon's statement. Lieven, Soren, and Chen, you're with Agent Sanchez." He turned to Briggs. "I trust we can make use of your interrogation rooms?"

"Of course," Briggs said.

"Excellent," Wilkins said. "Briggs, you can sit in on Sanchez's interview," he added generously.

"Great," Jane said. "Then there will be plenty of room for me to sit in on Lisbon's."

Wilkins peered at him suspiciously. "Mr. Jane, I believe, isn't it? I've heard about you."

Jane's smile managed to look both pleasant and menacing at the same time. "Every word is true, I assure you."

Wilkins gave him a measuring look. "Very well." He addressed his fellow feds. "When we're done, we'll confer in the briefing area to determine the best course of action."

Lisbon led the three agents into the first interrogation room, followed by Jane. Cho and Rigsby brought in two extra chairs, determinedly avoiding eye contact with Lisbon in a way that she knew meant they intended to retire to the observation room and listen to the whole thing with Grace the minute they left the room. Lisbon said nothing—just as well if she didn't have to go through the whole thing again afterwards.

Her interrogation—er, interview—took twice as long as Sanchez's, mainly due to Jane's presence. He sat next to her and spent the interview staring at each agent with uncomfortable intensity, then interrupting the interroga—interview to ask them a series of bizarre questions whose answers could only hold meaning to Jane. Lisbon, not at all enjoying the sensation of sitting in the suspect's chair in her own interrogation room and impatient with the repetitive nature of the questions from the feds, made no move to rein him in.

When it was finally over, the feds gathered in the briefing room and spent half an hour discussing what they'd learned from Lisbon and Sanchez. Lisbon restrained her curiosity about what they were saying and headed to the bullpen, Jane in tow.

Van Pelt had thoughtfully ordered Indian food, enough to feed twenty people. Well, fifteen people, if you included Rigsby. Sanchez and Briggs both took a plate with thanks, then headed back to Briggs' office to discuss the particulars of the day's events between themselves.

Lisbon gratefully accepted a plate. She collapsed onto Jane's couch and started shoveling it in. Jane sat down next to her with his own plate. He wriggled a little in displeasure, glaring at the spot where Sanchez had rested his head, and scooted closer to Lisbon.

Cho ignored his food and frowned in the direction of the briefing area. "I don't like this," he said darkly.

"Me neither," Rigsby said, slurping up a bit of palak paneer. He wasn't going to let his displeasure interfere with his dining habits. He took a huge bite of butter chicken. "Lousy feds, horning in on our territory. You and Sanchez did all the work, and now they're swooping in at the eleventh hour to take all the credit."

"They're within their rights," Lisbon said wearily. "Scalzi's involvement definitely puts this into federal jurisdiction."

"Do you think Red John could have been behind Scalzi's men showing up somehow?" Van Pelt said worriedly. "I mean—it was awfully bad luck, them showing up at Derosa's just when you happened to be there."

Lisbon looked at Jane, surprised. "You told them your crazy theory?"

"I take exception to that characterization," Jane said, stealing a bite of Lisbon's tikka masala. "Since you refused to take the threat seriously, I told them about my perfectly valid concerns that Red John might decide to come after you."

Lisbon wondered if he'd also told them his theory that Lorelei believed Jane was in love with her. She flashed on Jane looking at her legs the other night, and the words 'June eighth, 2007.' She shifted uncomfortably. Surely not.

Of course, thinking of this, she immediately became ten times more aware of how close Jane was sitting to her. Namely, close enough that their legs and shoulders touched. Suddenly, it was impossible not to think about the warmth of his thigh pressed up against hers.

"So, what do you think, Jane?" Rigsby said between slurps. "Think Red John could have had something to do with this?"

"For the last time, this has nothing to do with Red John," Lisbon said, exasperated. She glared at Jane. "I can't believe you got them drinking your Kool-Aid on this."

Jane ignored this and responded to Rigsby. "It does seem a bit unlikely, but I'm not ruling out the possibility."

"Did any of you consider, when listening to Jane's nonsense, that there is zero evidence that Red John has the remotest connection to Derosa or Scalzi or any of the other players in this?" Lisbon asked her team with a touch of impatience.

"There was no evidence Red John was tied to that psycho sheriff in that town in the middle of nowhere until we found that stuffed elephant," Cho pointed out.

Lisbon groaned. "Not you, too, Cho."

"Think about it," Cho said. "He's always two steps ahead of us. And Jane's got a point. He asks for your head, then gets you on an assignment where you're isolated from the rest of the team and suddenly some goon you arrested from an old case shows up out of nowhere and blows your cover?" He shook his head again and repeated, "I don't like it."

"If Red John was behind all this, then why the hell am I still alive?" Lisbon pointed out reasonably. "In this universe you've created amongst yourselves, why wouldn't he have had Guidall kill me or kidnap me and stash me away in his secret lair somewhere?"

"How do you know that wasn't his plan all along?" Jane countered. "Until you foiled it with your whole blowing up hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of illegal weapons stunt."

"Jane, I told you, Guidall didn't even recognize me at first," Lisbon said impatiently. "If he had, I'd be dead right now for sure."

A tremor shot through Jane's body. She felt it pass through his shoulder, then his leg, still pressed against hers. His voice, however, remained calm. He took a bite of his biryani. "I admit there is room for doubt on the matter."

She opened her mouth to argue further, but at that moment, Wilkins and his cronies re-entered the bullpen, trailed by Briggs and Sanchez hobbling on his crutches.

Rigsby kicked over one of the guest chairs for Sanchez before he could make another move towards the couch. Sanchez sat down and Jane shot Rigsby an approving look. The rest of the assorted agents remained standing.

"Good news," Wilkins announced. "A team of our agents picked up Derosa in the woods a little ways east of Triplett Gulch about twenty minutes ago."

Lisbon perked up. "That's great!"

"No sign of Huxley," Wilkins said. "Acardi and the other man you saw at the warehouse are in the wind, too."

"Oh," Lisbon said, relieved that the explosion she'd set off hadn't killed them, but still disappointed that they'd escaped. She should have slashed all the tires on that damn car. But really, she thought, she'd been very thorough in her campaign of destruction. She hadn't had time to take care of _everything._

Wilkins hesitated. "We have a bit of a…delicate situation," he said carefully.

Cho frowned. "What's that mean?"

"Derosa's willing to flip on Scalzi in exchange for not being charged with treason," Wilkins explained. "It's a big win- he can give us information we've never had access to, so we'll be able to better track Scalzi's movements and get the evidence we need to finally nail the bastard to the wall. But, well—" he winced. "The only bargaining chip we have to hold over him is you two," he said, addressing Lisbon and Sanchez. He looked at Lisbon. "Especially you."

"Okay," Lisbon said blankly.

"You're going to be our key witness in all of this," Wilkins continued. "As Sanchez wasn't present when Scalzi's men came to Derosa's place, his testimony is useless when it comes to establishing the connection between Scalzi and Derosa. But you, Agent Lisbon, are our shining star."

Lisbon was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

"We're going to use your testimony as leverage to keep Derosa cooperative," Wilkins went on.

"Way to go, boss," Rigsby said around another mouthful of paneer.

Lieven stepped forward. "The bad news is, we have every reason to believe that Huxley and Derosa's men are scurrying back to their organizations as we speak, telling them everything that happened."

"But Derosa's out of the picture," Cho pointed out. "Acardi won't have anyone to tattle to."

"He still has deep ties within Derosa's organization," Lieven said. "However, I agree he is the lesser threat, at the moment. The CBI's work has significantly weakened their standing, and hopefully this latest coup means we will be well-positioned to destroy the group entirely in short order. The bigger problem is Scalzi."

Cho crossed his arms over his chest. "What about him?"

Lieven looked uncomfortable. "We believe—" she cleared her throat. "Seeing as Agent Lisbon is now in a position to provide credible testimony of his ties to Derosa, thereby putting pressure on Derosa to flip on him, we think it is entirely possible that Scalzi will try to arrange for her to be killed before any of this can be brought to trial." She cleared her throat again. "In fact, we think it's probable." She shifted and clarified, "Almost certain."

Seriously? Lisbon stared at her in disbelief. What was it with people casually announcing that all these evil masterminds were out to get her?

"What about Sanchez?" Jane asked unexpectedly.

"We'll put a couple of guys on him," Lieven said. "But as Huxley never saw him, there's less of a risk that his life is in immediate danger."

Cho sat back in his chair. "So what's the plan?"

"Agent Lisbon will be taken into protective custody immediately," Lieven said matter of factly. "Agents Montrose and Soren will lead up the team of marshals charged with ensuring her safety. She'll be placed into WITSEC and transferred to a new location under a false identity."

"Hang on," Lisbon interrupted, throwing up a hand to forestall her. "This is ridiculous. I'm not going into WITSEC."

Lieven met her eyes steadily. "It's the best way to keep you safe."

"I'm a _cop_," Lisbon said in disbelief. "I'm supposed to be the one protecting people, not hiding from the bad guys like a frightened child."

"Very poor metaphor, Lisbon," Jane said. "Most of the people in the Witness Protection Program are former gangsters themselves. You should have said, 'not hiding like a dirty rotten snitch.'"

"I don't care who you are," Lieven said. "These people have resources you can't imagine, and they are coming for you."

Seeing Lisbon's mutinous look, Chen jumped in. "It would only be temporary. Until we can get what we need to bring down Scalzi for good."

"How long will that be?" Lisbon said, not remotely mollified. "The guy's been on the FBI's most wanted list for the past ten years!"

Chen winced. "Well, hopefully, only a couple months, now that we have you and Derosa."

Lisbon set her empty plate down and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not doing it."

"Lisbon's right," Jane said. "This is a bad idea. Lisbon would be a terrible protectee."

"Excuse me?" Lisbon said, affronted despite herself.

Jane ignored her. "First off, no way would she be able to adhere to the 'no contacting friends and family' rule. She'd crack within the first week, wanting to check in on her brothers and the rest of the team. She doesn't think anyone besides her can be trusted to look after them properly."

"I assure you, we will be putting in protective measures for your family," Agent Montrose said to Lisbon. "We'll keep them safe."

"Secondly," Jane said, as though Agent Montrose hadn't spoken. "She's incapable of putting her own safety above that of others. You put her in some Podunk town in Nebraska, next thing you'll be hearing is that she's made the local headlines for saving a runaway baby carriage by throwing herself into oncoming traffic or something."

"Really?" Lisbon said, annoyed. "You don't think you might be exaggerating a tiny bit?"

He turned to her, incredulous. "Exhibit A: today! Warehouse, massive quantities of explosives? Any of this ringing a bell? Don't even get me started on the time you confronted that guy with the sword. Not to mention the time you tackled the guy with the machete!"

"That's my job!" Lisbon argued.

"Thirdly," Jane continued, addressing the marshals with a steely gaze. "How do we know you can protect her properly?"

"WITSEC has the highest rate of—" Montrose began.

"I don't care about numbers," Jane interrupted, getting to his feet and crossing to where the marshals were standing so he could invade the personal space of each agent in turn. "How do we know there isn't a mole among you that will betray her?"

"Excuse me?" Wilkins said, affronted.

"You heard me, Wilkins," Jane said, walking over to ensure Wilkins took his turn having his personal space invaded.

"No one here is going to betray Agent Lisbon," Lieven said firmly.

"Maybe not here, in this room," Jane said, not the least bit mollified. "But you're all part of large government agencies. All large organizations are inevitably corrupt."

"By that logic, the CBI is corrupt, too," Chen pointed out. "Do you really think you can keep her safer here?"

"Yes, but we know where the corruption in the CBI is," Jane said, before Lisbon could state indignantly that the CBI was most certainly not corrupt. "For the most part, anyway. And we're her team. We can protect her better than anybody else could."

"That is simply untrue," Lieven said, exasperated. "We have the resources to give her a new identity, get her off the grid. Take her someplace Scalzi and his people would never think to look."

"I can do that in half the time it would take you to do it," Jane said dismissively. He stopped, struck. "Maybe that's what we should do. I can be in charge of Lisbon's exile. None of you will be able to betray her, because you won't know anything about it."

"I'm not going into exile, Jane," Lisbon said, annoyed. "Even if I were, I certainly wouldn't let you be in charge of it."

"Agent Lisbon, please," Lieven said, pained. "Think about the bigger picture here. Scalzi has been supplying weapons to terrorist organizations for years. We've traced his sales to attacks on civilians in Paris, Kabul, Los Angeles... This is the best opportunity we've had in a long time to shut his operation down. We won't be able to do that if you don't cooperate."

"I have the right to decline WITSEC protection," Lisbon said stubbornly.

"Legally, yes, you do," Lieven said. "But we're hoping you'll do the patriotic thing and recognize that allowing these fine agents to keep you safe until we can bring Scalzi to trial is the greatest service you could possibly provide to your country in the current circumstances."

Lisbon wavered. She _did_ want to see Scalzi brought down. Was she being selfish by refusing the protection Lieven and the others were offering?

Jane wasn't impressed. "Oh, very neat," he said crossly. "Using Lisbon's do-gooder instincts to manipulate her into agreeing." He glared at Lieven. "Just what a mole would do to trick her into putting herself into your clutches."

"Not helping, Jane," Lisbon said, annoyed. She addressed Lieven. "Let's say I agreed. What would happen next? Talk me through the logistics."

"We'd relocate you to a new city," Lieven said, relieved. "Set you up with a new identity, help you find a job."

Jane groaned. "No, Lisbon. You're actually considering this?"

"It can't hurt to hear them out, Jane," Lisbon said reasonably. She looked back to Lieven. "What about my brothers?"

"We'd put protective details on them and their families," Lieven said. "Very discreet. They will be as unobtrusive as possible while still staying close enough to always be at hand if they are needed."

"Would I be able to contact them?"

"Agents Montrose and Soren would serve as intermediaries. They would carry letters back and forth, that sort of thing. They may be able to arrange in person meetings in a neutral location on occasion, but that would be rare, I'm afraid. Letters will be your primary means of communication."

"What about the team?" Lisbon asked.

Lieven glanced around at the stony faces of Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt. Jane, she ignored. "What about them?" she asked dubiously.

"Will I be able to remain in contact with them?"

"If you like. Same deal as with your brothers," Lieven said. "Letters would be exchanged through Agents Montrose and Soren as intermediaries."

"No way," Jane said, shaking his head.

Lisbon bit her lip. "Maybe it's for the best, Jane." No matter how lonely and desolate it sounded.

"Lisbon, forget it. I'm not letting you do this."

"Look, you were worried about—the other thing," she said lamely, knowing he would understand what she meant. "Maybe this is a way to kill two birds with one stone." If Jane started to think of Witness Protection as a means to keep her out of Red John's sights, maybe he'd get on board with the idea.

"Or a clever way to get you alone and vulnerable," Jane said stubbornly. Of course, there was the possibility that his paranoia was so ingrained that he couldn't accept any possible solution that didn't involve ten convoluted plans nested inside one another, intertwined into some kind of barbed tangle.

Lisbon sighed. "Jane, would you please be reasonable for once in your life? There is no evidence—"

"I don't give a damn about the evidence," Jane said loudly. "I'm not going to let these people try to take you away."

"Mr. Jane, this is not your decision," Wilkins said, exasperated.

"Jane," Lisbon said softly.

Jane's face fell as he looked into her eyes. "Oh, no. No, no, no." He closed his eyes. "You've decided. Lieven got to you with her little speech about protecting the nation."

Lisbon sighed. "Look, I hate it, but they're right. At the end of the day, this isn't about me."

"Very well," Jane said, resigned. "Podunk, Nebraska, here we come."

Lisbon blinked. "Uh," she said. "We?"

Jane actually looked surprised by her reaction. "Of course. If you insist on doing this, I'm going with you. Obviously."

"Jane, that's…sweet," Lisbon said, thinking that sweet was entirely the wrong word, but unable to come up with a reasonable alternative. "But I'm not sure it's the most practical idea in the world."

"What does that matter?" Jane said. Which she should have expected, really. When had Jane's actions ever been influenced by the practical?

"I'm afraid what you're suggesting is not possible," Agent Montrose said. "Significant others aren't allowed, only married couples."

"Oh, we're not—" Lisbon began.

Jane cut her off. "Fine," he said impatiently. "We'll get married."

Lisbon nearly choked on her own spit. She turned to Jane, her eyes on stalks. "Excuse me?" she spluttered.

Jane shrugged. "They're saying this tedious bureaucratic detail is preventing me from coming along, so the solution is obviously to eliminate that bureaucratic barrier by getting married."

The rest of the team subtly inched away from her as though endeavoring to escape the blast radius if her head actually exploded.

"Yeah," Lisbon said. "That's not happening."

"Why not?"

"Because!"

Cho cut in unexpectedly. "Maybe you should think about it, boss."

She turned to him, flabbergasted. "Are you kidding me?"

He shook his head. "You need someone to watch your back. Jane is paranoid—there's no one better to keep an eye out for you."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Jane has no weapons or self-defense training. If he came along, I'd be the one protecting him."

"Yeah, but he's good at spotting trouble," Rigsby piped up.

"Creating it, you mean," Lisbon muttered.

Cho let this pass. "He can scheme his way out of damn near anything. If something comes up, he can plot the way to safety for both of you."

"Thank you, Cho," Jane said, gratified by this assessment.

Lisbon huffed in exasperation. She hooked a thumb in Jane's direction. "I'm not marrying—that."

"Now, Teresa, don't you think that's a bit uncalled for?" Jane said, affronted.

She stuck her chin out. "No."

"What's the problem?" Cho said. "You guys are like, ninety-five percent married anyway."

Rigsby and Van Pelt murmured their agreement under their breaths. Even Briggs and Sanchez studiously avoided Lisbon's gaze. Lisbon stared around her in disbelief. What was this, a conspiracy? Only the feds seemed as nonplussed as her.

Jane rocked on his heels. "The way I see it, you don't have much of a choice in the matter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lisbon said warily.

"Let's say you made the foolish decision to allow these agents of the state to separate us." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you really think I would take that quietly?"

Lisbon paled. "What would you do?" she asked, her insides twisting with dread.

"First things first," Jane said. "I would break into the buildings of each of the organizations represented by our federal colleagues here and wreak whatever havoc occurred to me in the moment. Nothing too major. Perhaps a lockdown of the facility, a couple of public relations disasters, you know…small potatoes."

"You'd only need to get into the marshals building," Rigsby pointed out. "They'd be the ones who'd have Lisbon's location."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that to get the location information," Jane said dismissively. "I'd have other channels for that. Breaking in would just be a way to demonstrate to the fine agents in this room that attempting to conceal Lisbon's whereabouts from me is futile."

"Are you threatening us?" Wilkins said, indignant.

Lieven raised her eyebrows. "You're talking about three organizations full of the most highly trained civilian and military personnel on the planet. You really think you can make a mockery of the U.S. government?"

"Generally, I find it does just fine at that on its own," Jane said in a superior tone. "No, I will merely be proving the point that anyone who tries to keep me away from Lisbon will come to regret it."

The feds looked skeptical, but Lisbon recognized this as a real and credible threat. She buried her face in her hands. "This is not happening," she muttered. Who knew blowing up a stockpile of military grade weapons would not be the most disturbing part of her day?

"Where was I?" Jane mused. "Oh, yes. Once I found out where you were hidden, Lisbon, I would of course subvert any protective measures Agents Montrose and Soren might have put in place. I won't tell them about this, of course, simply allow them to panic once they realize their defenses have been breached, only to find that I have found my way back to you in the end. I'm sure they would find the experience very upsetting."

"In other words, you'll do everything in your power to undermine the marshals' work and follow me around if I don't agree," Lisbon sighed.

"The U.S. Marshals Service has decades of experience hiding civilians from the most dangerous criminals in the country," Montrose said indignantly. "We have the resources of the federal government at our disposal. You really think you can run circles around us just like that?"

"Meh," Jane said. "Child's play." He directed his next salvo at Lisbon. Apparently, he considered the feds a meaningless obstacle and had decided to focus all his efforts on overcoming her resistance. "Come now, Lisbon. Do you really want to be responsible for all that panic and wasted man hours and tax payer dollars? Just do the reasonable thing and agree to marry me."

Lisbon snorted. "Right. Reasonable. That's just the word that comes to mind in this situation."

"I understand you have some reservations, but I'm sure we can resolve them with a little open and honest dialogue." He ignored her 'ha!' of disbelief. "Can I have a word alone with you?"

Lisbon scowled. "Fine."

He made a sweeping gesture in the direction of her office. She got up and preceded him into her office, leaving the team and the feds in a state of bemused curiosity. He guided her the last few steps with his hand at the small of her back. The familiar touch felt more intense and confusing than usual.

She shook him off and rounded on him the minute he'd closed the door behind them. "Why are you doing this?" she said plaintively.

"I told you, I'm not letting you get shipped off to the middle of nowhere with none of us around to protect you. For all we know, you'd disappear en route and we'd never have any idea what happened to you." He looked haunted by the thought.

"For the thousandth time, this has nothing to do with Red John, Jane," Lisbon said impatiently. "I'll probably be safer in Witness Protection than I would be staying here in California. What is this really about?"

He looked at her oddly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Is this your revenge?" she asked desperately.

Jane looked offended. "You think manipulating you into marrying me is punishment for pushing me into the pool?" He paused. "I do owe you a comeuppance for that, now that you remind me. With interest now, because of the M&M's. But this isn't it."

"Jane, you can't be serious about this insane idea. Can you please just tell me what the long game is here?"

He looked at her intently. "Why can't I be serious about it?"

He needed to stop looking at her like that. This situation was confusing enough without looks of soul-stripping intensity that may or may not be a feint to beguile her into compliance. "Quit that," she snapped, evading his gaze. "Just—tell me what you're trying to achieve here."

He sighed. "Lisbon, I'm not trying to trick you. I'm genuinely concerned for your safety. I don't think it's a good idea for you to do this alone."

She bit her lip. "Do you think it would be better to just—do the exile thing, like you said before? Get off the grid completely, without involving WITSEC?" Going on the lam wouldn't be her first choice, but surely it would be better than to enter into a contract of marriage under false pretenses.

"We could do that," Jane said. "But it will be more challenging if every branch of the U.S. government known to man is determined to hunt you down. Besides, putting ourselves in the hands of the federal government could open several new opportunities for us."

This evidence of Jane's normal calculating self had a perversely calming effect on her. She breathed a little easier at the reassurance that the whole marriage idea stemmed from a typically complex Jane agenda rather than…something else. "Like what?"

"If Red John is after you, having you under federal protection will force him to get creative. I see two scenarios. One, he manages to find us, in which case we will know one of our two new marshal friends is a mole and we will be able to take counter measures accordingly. If you're right and he has nothing to do with this and has no connections in the marshals' office, he'll be taken off guard that we've disappeared and can't track us down. In either case, he will be unprepared for this new situation and may do something drastic to try to change the game again, thus putting himself at greater risk of exposure."

"But we won't be around to take advantage of that if we're in hiding," Lisbon pointed out.

"The team will be, though," Jane said.

Lisbon paused at the implication that Jane might be willing to let the team take action without him when it came to Red John. "And you'd be…okay with that?" she said dubiously.

He shrugged. "I want him out of our lives. If this is the best way to make that happen, I'll…learn to be okay with that."

Lisbon didn't have time to fully process this staggering statement before he added, "Of course, that will be a moot point if he figures out where we are and comes after us himself."

"Of course," Lisbon muttered, disgruntled. That was probably the outcome he was hoping for, she thought. That Red John would be so distressed by Jane's disengagement that he would seek him out, making it easier for him to achieve his revenge after all.

"In addition," Jane continued. "This whole witness protection thing seems the best way of handling the Scalzi situation, something which I have a vested interest in, now that I've heard a bit more about what the man has done to people who have crossed him in the past. If you have two sociopaths after you, it could be good to have the government behind us. If the marshals are moles, that will narrow the channel of attack, so we'll be more prepared. And if they aren't, it could be useful to have some backup on hand. On balance, I think accepting the offer from WITSEC is the most prudent thing to do."

She hesitated. "Jane, you—you really don't have to come with me, you know. This is only temporary. I'll be fine."

"Well, I won't be, if I have to spend months on end worrying about you," Jane said firmly. "If you're going, I'm going. That's already been decided, so you may as well stop arguing about it." He grinned at her. "You'll need all your energy for planning the wedding."

She grimaced. "Can't you think of some way around this marriage thing? I'm sure you could con the feds into letting you come along without going through this whole charade if you put your mind to it."

He shrugged. "I probably could, if I put enough energy into it. But why bother, if we already have a clear path to get around their petty bureaucratic regulations?"

"Getting married isn't something you do for the sake of bureaucratic convenience!"

"I don't know why you're being so stubborn about this. Resistance is futile, my dear. I've already outlined the reasons you have no choice but to marry me." He rocked on his heels again. "If you don't give in soon, I may have to consider escalating my plans to include an international incident."

Lisbon looked at him, incredulous. "You're seriously blackmailing me into marrying you?"

"Yep." He smirked at her. "Do you want me to get down on one knee?"

"No!" Lisbon said in alarm.

"Really, Lisbon, I don't think we should mess with tradition," he said, bending one leg as though preparing to kneel on her office floor.

Lisbon drew her fist back threateningly. "If you don't stay on your feet right now, so help me, I will knock you on your ass."

"Okay, okay," Jane said, straightening hastily. "Message received. Romance is dead, and I'm to make no plans to revive it without prior authorization."

Lisbon let her fist fall to her side. "God, this is such a nightmare. Seriously, Jane, you should give up this idea of following me into WITSEC. You'll be better off."

Jane stepped closer to her. "Teresa, I told you a long time ago. I will always be there for you, no matter what happens."

"Except when you take a hiatus to go to Nevada and sleep with a serial killer's mistress," Lisbon couldn't help grumbling. Reminding herself of this was very important. It helped shore up her defenses against the way he looked at her when he said that.

"Never again, Lisbon," Jane said confidently. "From now on, it's you and me, til death do us part."

"Look, I get that this is all a joke to you," Lisbon said, cranky. "But my life was just turned upside down in the space of twenty minutes. I'd appreciate a reprieve from the peanut gallery."

"You're taking a very glass half empty perspective on this whole thing," he observed. "This doesn't have to be all bad, you know. It could be good for you to have a bit of a break from all that's been going on around here. Think of it like an extended vacation. No chasing bad guys, no worrying about anybody else. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"It sounds lonely and boring," Lisbon said. Like she'd be able to stop worrying when there were one to two notorious criminals determined to kill her and possibly anyone she cared about.

He spread his hands. "Lisbon. How could you ever be either of those things when I'll be with you the whole time?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "This isn't some undercover operation. You're talking about getting legally married! Once all this is over, we'd have to get a divorce, probably go to court, sort out all sorts of paperwork—"

"Now, now," Jane cut in. "Don't you think we should save the divorce talk until after the honeymoon at least? Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Jane, please," Lisbon said, pained. "Can you be serious for one minute?"

"I assure you, I'm not taking this as lightly as you seem to think. This isn't the way I would have chosen to go about this, you know," he said. "Given the choice, I would have preferred to romance you a little before dragging you to the altar."

Lisbon gave him the fish-eye.

"I know the thought of marrying under these…unusual circumstances is distressing to you," Jane went on. "To you, marriage is a sacred rite."

"Yes, it is," Lisbon said firmly.

"Lisbon, you're the most important person in my life," he said with the air of a man exhibiting great patience. "This is the best way for me to stay with you so I can protect and care for you. I know you'd rather be married under the auspices of a priest, but if we can't make that work in the time available, will you please accept my promise that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and make you as happy as possible? Can that real and true thing between us be the sacred vow that binds us together?"

Lisbon folded her arms across her chest. "What about sex?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I thought we'd table that issue until we aren't under the watchful eyes of half a dozen federal agents, but if you have some previously undiscovered exhibitionist fantasies, Lisbon, I assure you I'd love to hear them."

"That's not what I meant." Lisbon floundered. _June eighth, 2007._ "I mean, what if we're in some small town as a married couple and one of us finds someone we're attracted to?"

Jane rolled his eyes. "If you decide you want to engage in a dalliance with some nice young man with a ponytail who works at the local 7-Eleven, I promise I won't interfere."

This assurance felt like a trick. But she couldn't figure out a way around it, so she moved on. She fixed him with a look. "Do you swear on your life you're not going through with this marriage idea as some kind of crazy plan to bait Red John?"

He went still. He was serious now, all right. He stepped even closer to her, his voice taut with cold fury. "I would never do that." He glared at her, betrayal in his eyes. "You know I would never do that."

"All right, settle down," she said soothingly, repeating his words from earlier in the evening back to him. "I'm sorry, okay? I just—this is a lot to take in."

He unbent a little. "I suppose I can understand that."

"Look, I know neither of us is very good at…"

"Sharing our feelings? Emotional honesty?" Jane suggested.

She grimaced. "Yes. That. Anyway, I know it's not really our thing, but maybe we should talk about some of that stuff before we sign a legally binding agreement to…whatever."

"Love and cherish each other for all our days to come?"

"File joint tax returns," Lisbon countered.

"Fine," Jane said. "I'll go first." He gave her an assessing look. "You're secretly glad I'm coming along, because it really would be boring and awful without me, and you're relieved not to have to worry about what kind of trouble I might get into when not under your watchful eye. You truly do hate the whole marriage idea because of the aforementioned sacred rite thing, etc., etc. You think you could handle going undercover with me if that was all it is, but you're feeling uncertain about where we stand after the whole Vegas/Lorelei/Sanchez thing and you're afraid that being stuck on our own together for a prolonged period of time will force you to actually deal with your emotions on the matter. But again I say, glass half full! What better opportunity to work out some of our issues than being trapped together in a little town in the middle of nowhere with no one else to talk to?"

She glared at him. "Cute. Fine, now it's my turn."

He gestured at her to proceed. "By all means."

"Jane, you were faithful to your wife's memory for ten years." She reached out and tapped the gold band on his left hand. "You still wear your wedding ring. Are you honestly telling me you think you can just… sign a piece of paper and it won't have an impact on you emotionally?"

"I do think it will impact me emotionally," Jane said. She thought she heard him mutter under his breath, "Maybe not the way you think." He raised his voice. "But that matters very little. We need to do this."

"We really, really don't," Lisbon muttered.

He closed the remaining distance between them and took her hands in his. She really wished he'd let go. "Marriage is always a leap of faith, Teresa. I'm asking you—can you please just jump with me, and trust that we'll figure out the rest as we go along?"

She made a pained face. "Jane…"

He squeezed her hands tighter. "That's a yes!" he said triumphantly. "That's the face you always make when you're about to give in when I've told you about one of my brilliant schemes." He let go of one hand and pulled her towards the door with the other. "Come on, let's go tell the others the good news."

She let him drag her out the door, her stomach churning with anxiety and anticipated regret.

God, this was a bad idea.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I wanted to get this chapter to you in time for Christmas, but alas, I didn't get my act together before traveling for the holidays. Hope you will accept this as a New Year's treat instead. Hope everyone had a warm and cozy time with their families, whether you celebrate Christmas or not. Happy New Year!

xxx

"She said yes!" Jane announced to the bullpen at large, still holding fast to her right hand.

Lisbon wanted to die. Why hadn't she had the good sense to let that explosion blow her up? It would have been so quick and painless. Infinitely preferable to the slow torture of being embarrassed to death by Jane.

Cho raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Well, technically she grimaced like she was being forced to watch Rigsby eat a meatball sandwich, but the point is, we're getting married," Jane said, with no loss of enthusiasm.

Van Pelt beamed at them. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you, Grace," Jane said, grinning back.

Lisbon looked back and forth between them, incredulous. "Seriously? Can we please not make this any more of a farce than it already is?" She turned to the feds. "What happens now? If there's something I need to sign, can we do it now so I can go home and get some sleep? It's been a long day."

Montrose blinked at her. "You can't go home," she said, as though speaking to a rather slow child. "You're under WITSEC protection, effective immediately."

"But—" Lisbon stopped as the reality of the situation began to sink in. She knew WITSEC procedure. You didn't have a month to settle your lease and tie up loose ends. You picked up and went. If you happened to have a couple hours warning, you might have the luxury of packing a single bag to take with you for the rest of your life. Otherwise, you just—walked away. She knew that. "Of course," she said crisply. She pressed her lips together and thought of the photo of her brothers she kept on her desk at home.

Jane squeezed her hand. "Grace, I don't suppose we could trouble you to put some of our personal belongings in storage for us? I have a few things upstairs I'd like to save for when we get back."

Van Pelt hastened to assure them that she would be happy to do so. Lisbon expelled a tiny breath of relief. She didn't have much stuff she actually cared about, but the few items that meant something to her would be devastating to lose. She self-consciously touched her cross, hoping none of the feds would identify it as a potentially distinguishing feature and think to ban her from wearing it.

This minor detail taken care of, Montrose advised that they would catch the next available flight to a location that would remain undisclosed until the time of departure. They would then be placed in a hotel room for up to two weeks while WITSEC made the arrangements for more permanent housing and worked on setting up their covers.

Lisbon checked the time on her phone. "What time do we need to be at the airport?"

Montrose checked her watch. "An hour and a half. You'd better get a move on if you want to take care of arranging a marriage certificate before then."

The breath left Lisbon's lungs. "_Now_?" she squeaked. "Can't we just… hold off on that until we're settled wherever it is that we're going?"

"If Mr. Jane requires WITSEC protection, you'll need to be legally married before we leave this building," Montrose said, unbending.

"Hear that?" Jane said, cheerful. "You need to marry me for my own safety." His eyes twinkled at her. "Protect me, Lisbon."

"Is it even possible to get married in that kind of timeframe?" Lisbon asked, a sensation of impending doom closing in on her. "Don't you have to go to court to apply for the license, and everything?"

Van Pelt tapped on her keyboard. "The application is online. I'll print it out for you."

"You don't have to do it in person?" Lisbon said desperately.

Agent Montrose cleared her throat. "Under the circumstances, we can smooth things over with the county clerk's office in that regard, as long as you can get the license filed on time."

Van Pelt clicked again. "It says here you have ten days to file the license after the ceremony is performed."

"I can file it for you," Cho said unexpectedly.

"Thanks, Cho," Jane said, delighted. Lisbon looked at her second in command, wondering if pod people had suddenly taken over his body. He looked back at her steadily. Nope, still Cho. A Cho who volunteered to go to the courthouse in his downtime so his boss could be legally married before going into hiding from men who wanted to kill her, apparently.

"I can perform the ceremony," Rigsby said eagerly. "I did it for a buddy of mine two years ago, so I'm already ordained by the state."

"Excellent. Cho, you'll be best man, then," Jane decided. "Grace, you'll stand up with Lisbon, obviously."

Sanchez sighed. "Guess that makes me the flower girl."

"Wonderful," Jane said, smirking. "Glad everyone's getting into the spirit of the thing." He glanced at Lisbon. "Present company excepted, of course."

Lisbon concentrated on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth and didn't reply.

She watched Jane fill out the application paperwork and listened to Rigsby wonder aloud whether he would remember everything he was supposed to say, feeling as though she was having an out of body experience.

Rigsby, growing increasingly anxious over remembering his lines, finally declared his intention of printing off the vows and reading them from a sheet of paper so he wouldn't forget anything important.

Cho snorted. "It's like five sentences. You can't remember that?"

"I'm just saying, I don't want to mess it up," Rigsby said.

Cho looked at him in contempt. "Didn't you say that you'd done this before?"

"Yeah, but—well, I was pretty drunk at the time," Rigsby admitted, shame-faced. He got up and retrieved his printout from the printer. "I don't remember it all that well." He looked at Jane and Lisbon expectantly. "You guys ready?"

"Almost," Jane said. "I need to step into Lisbon's office for a moment. Sanchez, Briggs, kindly distract Lisbon with meaningless work nonsense for a moment so she doesn't hyperventilate and attempt to escape out the window while I'm not looking."

Sanchez and Briggs, taken aback, clumsily obeyed. Ultimately they spent the two and a half minutes Jane was gone speculating about Derosa and his men. Lisbon put her two cents in and found that the discussion of criminals both apprehended and at large had an admittedly calming effect on her state of mind as a whole.

"Lisbon," Jane said, reappearing at her side. "Lend me your necklace for a minute will you?"

"What for?" she asked, taking off her cross and handing it to him.

"You'll see," he replied. "Don't worry, you'll have it back in a minute."

As this was literally the least of her worries—she knew Jane wouldn't let anything happen to her cross—she didn't argue.

Jane turned to Rigsby. "We're ready."

Speak for yourself, Lisbon thought. Grace came to stand next to her, beaming. Cho stood next to Jane, looking like…Cho.

"This is so romantic," Agent Chen commented, also beaming. The rest of the federal agents stood alongside him with various expressions of bemused interest, looking like a particularly dour bridal party.

Lisbon looked at Chen, incredulous. Meanwhile, Rigsby had started to read off his sheet of paper.

"Dearly beloved," he read. "We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman together in holy matrimony."

Holy shit, Lisbon thought, panicked. This was really happening. She glanced at the nearest window, wondering what it would take to jimmy it open and climb down the wall the three floors to safety.

Jane leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Don't even think about it."

Rigsby barreled on. "The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God in creation—" He stopped. "This section is pretty religious," he said doubtfully. "Do you want me to keep that in, boss? I know you're Catholic and everything, but Jane is, well…"

"Just get on with it," Lisbon said through gritted teeth.

"You got it." Rigsby paused. "So…does that mean keep it in? Or leave it out?"

Lisbon closed her eyes. "Skip anything that seems like it might result in Jane being struck down from on high. Stick to the essentials."

"Okay," Rigsby said, regaining confidence. "Do you, Lisbon, take this man—"

"You'd better let me go first," Jane interrupted. "I know it's traditional for the woman to be the first one to recite her vows, but I think in the present circumstances it would be better if I be the first one to say the words."

"All right," Rigsby said, bemused. He returned to his sheet of paper. "Do you, Jane, take Lisbon to be your wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til death do you part?"

"I do," Jane said calmly.

Lisbon stared at him. He'd done it. He'd actually said the words.

"Great," Rigsby said approvingly. He turned to Lisbon. "Do you, Lisbon, take Jane to be your husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til death do you part?"

"Uh," she said faintly. "I guess so?"

Jane shook his head. "That won't do at all. Try again, Lisbon. The response isn't supposed to sound like a question."

She glared at him. "Fine. I do. Happy?"

"Much better," he said, satisfied.

Oh, Lord. What had she done? She'd said the words. Out loud.

"Calm down, Lisbon," Jane said. "We've still got to do the bit with the rings."

"The rings?" she repeated, her voice faint again. "We don't have any rings."

"Au contraire." Jane held up two small light colored objects. "One for you, one for me," he said, handing her the larger of the two.

She peered at the object in her hand. It was a ring, of sorts. One that appeared to have been fashioned from a piece of paper, origami style. She looked at it more closely. The twists and folds in the paper made it hard to read, but there was writing on the paper, and it looked suspiciously familiar.

Jane leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I used a complaint form."

Lisbon was startled into a genuine laugh. She met his eyes, smiling for the first time in what felt like days. "That part, at least, is perfect."

Jane beamed at her. "Want to see yours?"

"Yeah," she said. Just for that moment, it was just the two of them, laughing about something ridiculous Jane had done. The rest of it didn't matter—she didn't want to leave that moment.

He held it up for inspection. It looked pretty much the same as the other one, except hers was smaller, and he had somehow managed to fashion a tiny flower in the place where a gemstone would normally be. "How did you even do that?" she asked in wonder.

"Maybe I've been practicing," Jane teased. "Just in case you needed me to marry you in a hurry because madmen were after you and we decided to go on the lam together. It never hurts to be prepared."

"Uh," Rigsby said. "Should I keep going?"

Lisbon gestured for him to proceed.

"Okay. Now repeat after me, Jane," Rigsby said. "'With this ring, I thee wed.'"

Jane's eyes didn't leave Lisbon's. "With this ring, I thee wed." He reached for her hand and slipped the paper ring over her left ring finger.

Lisbon looked down at her hand. Oh, crap. The ridiculous thing actually looked good there. She felt a deeply unwelcome fluttering in her stomach. Dammit. _She was not charmed by this_.

"Now you, Lisbon," Rigsby instructed. "'With this ring, I thee wed.'"

Lisbon swallowed hard. "With this ring, I thee wed." Her voice came out as a strange sort of croak. Her hands shook, but the paper ring slid easily over Jane's finger. He squeezed her fingers back gently and gave her a quick smile.

"Great," Rigsby said cheerfully. "Almost done."

"Hang on," Jane said. "I'd like to go again."

Lisbon frowned at him. "What? Why?" Was he planning to take the ring from her just so he could put it back on again? She resisted the urge to close her left hand into a fist. She felt a strange reluctance to let anyone remove the paper circle from her hand.

"It's only fair, Lisbon. You got to say your part twice. I should get to do this part twice to balance us out." He looked at Rigsby expectantly. "Go on, then."

"Uh," Rigsby said, his eyebrows crinkling in consternation. "'With this ring, I thee wed?'"

"With this ring, I thee wed," Jane repeated softly, looking at Lisbon again. He held up the two ends of her gold necklace. Her breath caught. The shining gold of his ring hung between them, nestled against her cross. Together, they caught the light, the reflections off the bright surfaces shimmering like captive sunlight.

His eyes never leaving hers, he reached forward and clasped the chain around her neck. Once he'd refastened it, he swept his fingers tenderly through her hair to make sure none had been caught in the clasp.

Lisbon hardly dared to breathe. What the hell was he doing? This didn't feel like a joke, or a… a trick. This felt… _real_. Which was absolutely the last thing in the world she was prepared to deal with.

He leaned forward even closer. She stiffened in shock as she felt his lips brush against her hair. "Breathe, Teresa," he whispered.

Lisbon inhaled a shaky breath. Without her permission, her fingertips found the ring and cross resting against her chest. She traced the line of the smooth metal circle. Just breathe, she reminded herself, and forced another breath through her lungs.

Rigsby looked at Jane. "Are you done now?"

"Yep," Jane said cheerfully. "I'm good."

"Okay. Then with the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife." Rigsby flipped his sheet of paper over and read the last line. "You may now kiss the bride."

Lisbon shot him a look. Was he freaking kidding?

"What an excellent notion," Jane said.

Lisbon swung her head around in alarm, but it was too late. Before she could gather her wits about her, Jane gathered her in his arms and brought his mouth down on hers.

Oh. Oh, _wow_. He tasted like tea and sunlight and oh, God, now she was kissing him back, because she was only human, after all, and she couldn't get enough of the taste of him, couldn't get enough of _him_—

"Man," Sanchez said mournfully. "Being flower girl sucks."

She broke away from Jane, thoroughly flustered.

Rigsby grinned at them. "Congratulations!" He shook Jane's hand, still grinning like a maniac.

"Yes, congratulations, boss!" Van Pelt beamed at her, then gave her a hug.

"Thanks," Lisbon muttered, chagrined.

Cho shook Jane's hand and advised, "Don't mess this up." Then he leaned over and kissed Lisbon on the cheek. "Congratulations, boss." She blinked in surprise. Seriously. Pod people.

Following Cho's example, Rigsby bravely kissed her on the cheek, too. "I know this whole situation is kind of out there, boss, but give it a chance. You guys are gonna be happy together. I can feel it."

"Thanks, Rigsby," she said, not sure what else to say. What was wrong with everyone? They were acting like this was real, too. She determinedly avoided looking at Jane.

Sanchez stood, favoring his bad leg. "Does this mean I get to kiss the bride, too?"

"Nope," Jane said, putting a proprietary arm around Lisbon's waist. "My gratitude has its limits."

Briggs stepped forward and offered Lisbon his hand. "Congratulations, Lisbon," he said dubiously. He eyed Jane sidelong. "And well, best of luck with…everything."

Lisbon was distracted by Jane's arm around her waist. "Thanks, Briggs. Good luck with the case. I hope you tear Derosa's organization to pieces."

He smiled ruefully. "That's the plan."

Wilkins clapped his hands together. "Well, now that that's dealt with, we do have a few more things to go over before we put you on the plane."

And so, relieved, Lisbon spent the first forty-five minutes of her marriage filling out paperwork.

Xxx

"I can't believe you're really leaving," Van Pelt said tearfully when Montrose announced it was time for them to go to the airport.

The reality of the situation was starting to sink in for all of them. Lisbon herself was currently grappling with the fact that the only possessions she would be taking to her new life were the clothes on her back, a ratty sports bra in her go bag that had seen better days, a toothbrush, and a set of gym clothes that she wasn't entirely certain were clean.

"Yeah," Rigsby said, sounding bewildered. "I mean—who is even going to be our boss while you're gone?"

"Better pray it's not Bertram," Jane said. "I won't be around to save you from his ego juice spilling all over the place."

"That's disgusting," Cho commented.

"Cho's in charge, of course," Lisbon said briskly. "You should put in for some new recruits to cover while we're gone, Cho."

"New recruits, Lisbon?" Jane said, offended. "Like I could possibly be replaced."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "What was it that you were saying about ego a minute ago?"

Briggs and Sanchez had left twenty minutes earlier, so it was just her and Jane and the team. And the feds, of course, but they were milling about in the background looking at their blackberries and radiating various levels of tension.

Van Pelt hugged her again. "We're gonna miss you."

Lisbon hugged her back. "I'm gonna miss you, too." She tightened her arms around her. "Really."

She hugged Rigsby and Cho in turn, blinking hard against the tears that threatened. These were the best people she knew in the world, and she had no idea when she'd see them again.

"We'll send you postcards," Jane said cheerfully. "You'll be so green with envy over our adventures you won't even have time to miss us."

"No, you won't," Agent Montrose broke in, alarmed. "No contact, remember? That's rule number one."

"Of course, of course," Jane said smoothly. "Who could forget rule number one?" But he winked at Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt in a way that Lisbon knew meant that whatever alter ego Jane happened to adopt for this little charade, he would still do whatever he damn well pleased, regardless of whatever anybody else had to say about it.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This chapter contains one of my favorite moments from the whole story - let me know if you can guess what it is!

xxx

Lisbon woke to find her cheek pressed against soft gray wool with a familiar scent as the pilot announced the plane had been cleared for landing. "Timeizzit?" she slurred without opening her eyes. She lolled her head to one side, but it seemed it had gotten heavier sometime in the last several hours. She couldn't seem to lift it from Jane's shoulder.

"About five-thirty in the morning."

Lisbon grunted in displeasure. She'd left to drive to Fish Rock at noon. Blown up a building a little before five. Taken an injured colleague to the hospital at quarter to eight. Spent over an hour and a half sorting things out with the feds, and been married by 11:53 pm. Signed over her life to WITSEC around 12:30 am. Shortly thereafter, she'd been hustled onto a plane. Which meant she'd gotten less than four hours of sleep to prepare her to face her new life.

She abruptly realized that her head wasn't just on Jane's shoulder, her entire left side was pressed up against him. At some point, he'd put the armrest up. Now he had his arm around her and was softly stroking her hair.

Damn, that felt good. She decided to let herself feel, just for a moment.

_His mouth on hers, hot and demanding_—

She sat up abruptly, blinking herself awake.

"We're about to land?" she said inanely, though she'd clearly heard the pilot announce that fact only a minute ago.

"Yep," Jane said. "Albuquerque, here we come."

"Oh, joy," Lisbon muttered. She had nothing against Albuquerque, really. It just…wasn't home.

"It says here the botanical gardens here are lovely," Jane said, showing her an article in the inflight magazine. "I know we're only going to be here for a few days while they decide where to send us, but we should go check them out. It'll be fun."

Trust Jane to turn running for their lives into a sightseeing adventure. "Sure, Jane," she said tiredly. She looked up at him. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I dozed a little." He smiled down at her. "You make a very pleasant body pillow, my dear."

"Oh, hush." She elbowed him in the ribs, blushing.

The plane touched down, and Agents Montrose and Soren escorted them to a waiting black car that whisked them off to the regional headquarters of the U.S. Marshals Service.

Lisbon had thought they'd signed all the relevant paperwork the night before, but it turned out there was even more of it. There was also a training that Jane summed up (accurately, in her opinion) as 'how to not screw up and mistakenly betray your identity to your sworn enemies, even if you used to break people's fingers together back in the day.'

By the time mid-afternoon rolled around, Lisbon was drooping.

Jane glanced at her, then turned to the marshals. "Agent Montrose, this is all very thrilling, but is there any chance we might take a bit of a break soon? None of us got much sleep last night, and I confess I'm feeling rather worse for the wear."

Montrose glanced at her watch. "I suppose we could knock off a bit early, given the circumstances," she said doubtfully. "Very well. We'll go through the details of your covers, and then we'll call it a day."

She handed them a collection of documents, which included birth certificates, driver's licenses, and even passports. "Your names are Teresa and Patrick Meyers, from Scottsdale, Arizona. Teresa, you'll be set up as a kindergarten teacher—"

"No," Jane interrupted. "That will never do."

Montrose frowned at him. "Why not?"

"Because while Lisbon is excellent with children of all ages, being responsible for a pack of five-year olds all day will make her want to tear her hair out by the end of the first week," Jane said, to Lisbon's secret relief.

"We have an arrangement with the school—" Montrose began.

"That's fine," Jane said. "I'll be the teacher. Lisbon can be a reporter."

Lisbon blinked. How the hell had he come up with that? Her heart softened a little, imagining Jane as kindergarten teacher. He'd be so great at that.

"A reporter?" Montrose repeated.

"Well, she can't be a cop, obviously," Jane said. "You need another profession where her intensity and tenacious nature won't be suspicious and she won't go mad with boredom. Ergo, a reporter. An investigative journalist, to be precise." He flashed a grin at Lisbon. "I'm sure she'll be taking down corrupt officials through her incisive prose in no time."

"Very well," Montrose said, bemused. "I'll see what I can do."

Lisbon shot Jane a grateful look. Sometimes his general horse's assery had real advantages.

"You'll be making your home in Salt Lake City, Utah," Montrose continued. Lisbon let out a tiny sigh of relief. She had nothing against small towns, but she would feel more secure knowing they were in a city where everyone in town wouldn't spend all their time speculating on their new neighbors' presence in such a small place.

"Wonderful," Jane said with real pleasure. "I've heard it's lovely there." He turned to Lisbon. "We could take up skiing!"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Sure, Jane. Whatever you say." Imagining Jane on skis made a pretty amusing picture, now that she thought of it. He'd probably insist on wearing his three piece suit down the mountain.

"We'll set you up in temporary housing in Salt Lake while you make your housing arrangements, as well as a small living stipend to get you going," Montrose told them. "While you're here in Albuquerque, you'll stay at a hotel we've arranged for you."

"How long will that be?" Lisbon asked.

"A few days, most likely. We'll spend the time training you in your new covers."

"That sounds thoroughly boring," Jane said. He looked at Lisbon. "I say we head straight for the botanical gardens and work on our covers there. You know I can train you not to betray our covers much better than anyone here could."

"The botanical gardens?" Montrose repeated, bewildered.

Lisbon glared at Jane. "What makes you think I need your training? I did just fine with Derosa's crew, thank you very much!"

"Because no one suspected you," Jane pointed out. "The minute things got dicey, you had to blow up a building to avoid them catching you."

"That's not true," she said hotly. She paused. "Sanchez shot the major threat before I even thought of blowing up the building," she muttered.

"You'll both need to be here," Montrose said firmly.

"Fine," Jane said grudgingly. "But only in the mornings. I'm definitely taking Lisbon to the botanical gardens at least once."

Montrose shook her head tiredly but didn't argue. Lisbon sympathized. Montrose hadn't gotten any sleep either, and she hadn't built up any Jane endurance over the years to carry her through high intensity obnoxiousness intervals. She handed Lisbon a wad of cash. "Here."

Lisbon took it, startled. "Uh, thanks."

"For incidentals," Montrose explained.

Jane tugged on Lisbon's sleeve. "Can I have some of that? I was thinking I could spend some time in the casino down at the racetrack while we're here, work on building us a little nest egg."

Lisbon looked at the wad of cash in her hands and shoved the whole thing at Jane. "Have at it," she said, exhausted. "Just don't get arrested."

Montrose looked back and forth between them. "I don't want to know, do I?"

"You definitely don't," Lisbon agreed.

Xxx

Lisbon blinked stupidly at the queen size bed in the middle of hotel room when Jane opened the door for her. Right. They were married. Of course the marshals would have arranged a single room. With one bed. Because that was how married people operated. They slept in one bed. Together.

"Here we are," Jane said cheerfully, setting his bag just inside the door. "Home sweet home."

Lisbon wordlessly crossed to the other side of the room and dumped her bag on the opposite side of the bed. "I need a shower," she said shortly. She gestured to the bathroom. "You need to get in there before I go in?"

"I'm good," Jane assured her. "I'm going to step out for a while, actually."

She raised her eyebrows. "Hitting the casino already?"

He shook his head. "I'll save that for another day. I want to familiarize myself with my surroundings, pick up a few necessities."

"Oh," Lisbon said, looking at the door in mute despair. She knew she ought to do the same, given her fairly dire wardrobe situation, but at the moment, she wanted nothing more in the world than to shower and sleep.

Jane smiled at her indulgently. "Take your shower and get some rest, Teresa. We can deal with everything else later."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah. You're right." She gave him a weak smile. "Have fun exploring."

"Thanks, I will." He made a show of blowing her a big kiss. "Good-bye, wife!"

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. "I'll see you later."

Jane left. Lisbon went into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. Standing in her underwear, she looked down at the paper ring still on her left ring finger. She'd taken it off several times to wash her hands since Jane had put it on her finger, but she'd put it back on straight away each time, telling herself she'd keep wearing it for now because she didn't have a good place to put it. She reminded herself that rationally, there was no reason to hold on to a pretend ring made out of paper. Rationally, it would be perfectly reasonable to throw it away. But deep down, she didn't want to let that little paper circle go. She wanted to put it in a wooden box next to a little paper frog and hide it away somewhere safe, where no one could ever take it away from her.

She swallowed hard. She took the paper-wrapped hotel soap out of the soap dish and placed the ring gently in its place. She paused, then added her cross necklace to her cache, letting her fingers trace over the smooth circle of Jane's ring. She still couldn't believe he'd taken…that he'd given it…

She snatched her hand back and clenched her hand into a fist. Blinking furiously, she turned away and flipped the taps.

Xxx

After her shower, she felt too drained for further introspection, so she didn't think about what she was doing. She simply refastened the cross and ring around her neck and carefully patted her hands dry so she could pick up the paper ring without damaging it. Wrapped in a towel, she took it out to the bedroom and placed it on her bedside table, where the delicate paper flower wouldn't be at risk of being crushed while she slept. Then she turned her attention to finding something to wear.

Investigation of her go bag revealed that the gym clothes were not in fact, clean. Mercifully, she found an extra pair of clean underwear tucked into the side pocket, but that was literally the only piece of clean clothing she had to her name. With a sigh, she headed back to the bathroom and, with the efficiency of a person who often travels for work with no prior notice, quickly scrubbed the underwear and shirt she'd been wearing for thirty-six hours in the sink. Everything else could wait. She draped the shirt over the shower rod and hung the dripping underwear on the doorknob. Jane could just deal with it.

When she returned to the bedroom, her eyes went to Jane's go bag. She hesitated only a moment, then determinedly crossed over to it and started rifling through it. He had three neatly folded clean shirts right on top. She grabbed the first one she saw and slipped her arms through it. It was his own damn fault for insisting on this marriage idea, anyway, she told herself, a bubble of hysteria rising in her throat as she buttoned up the shirt. If he didn't want his wife to steal his shirts, he shouldn't have made her his wife, should he? Besides, it wasn't really stealing. Community property laws meant half of his worldly possessions now belonged to her. Including any and all wardrobe staples. She had a brief mental image of herself in divorce court, suing Jane for half of his three-piece suits. She shook her head. She really needed to get some sleep.

She abandoned Jane's go bag and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up over her head.

She was asleep the minute her head touched the pillow.

Xxx

She woke three hours later to the sound of the door creaking open.

She started and gasped, her hand automatically reaching to the nightstand for a gun that wasn't there.

"Hey," Jane said softly. "It's just me. You're safe."

Her heart still pounding, she looked over to see him standing in the doorway, laden with shopping bags. "Sorry," she said, embarrassed. "Guess I'm a little jumpy."

"Well, people are trying to kill you," Jane pointed out reasonably, flipping the deadbolt on the door. "I, for one, am glad to have your finely honed reflexes on alert." He set the shopping bags down at the foot of the bed. "We should think about replacing some of your arsenal. I don't understand why the feds made you leave all your weapons behind if they're so convinced a gang of notorious criminals is after you."

She shook her head. "Too easy to trace back to me if I ever had reason to use one. They're all registered under my real name."

"Ah. Foiled by paperwork yet again."

Lisbon peered at the bags. "What did you get at the store? It looks like you knocked over half a mall."

He chuckled. "Not quite." He held up two white plastic bags. "First, sustenance. Enchiladas divorciadas. And raspberry corn muffins with green chiles, because I couldn't resist."

Lisbon wrinkled her nose. "Raspberry with green chiles?"

"It's New Mexico, Teresa. Everything has green chiles."

"Mm," Lisbon said, still dubious. "What else did you get?"

"I felt our wardrobes were in need of replenishment," he said. "Especially yours." His eyes twinkled merrily. "As evidenced by you being forced to take one of my shirts to avoid having to put on dirty clothes after your shower." He grinned and craned his neck as though trying to get a look under the blankets. "Are you going commando under there?"

"No," she said, blushing. "I found a clean pair of underwear in one of the side pockets of my go bag." If he'd asked her this question in any other circumstances, she would have told him off without hesitation. At the moment, however, it seemed very important that Jane know she wasn't completely naked under the shirt she'd stolen from him.

"Ah, another dream dies an ignominious death," Jane sighed with exaggerated disappointment.

"Hush," she said. "What did you buy?"

"See for yourself." Jane turned out the contents of the first of the large shopping bags onto the bedspread.

Lisbon blinked at the pile of clothes in front of her. Jeans, shorts, socks, shirts, yoga pants, sleep shorts and a tank top, two sundresses, three bras… and ten pairs of underwear in a variety of styles and an assortment of bright colors. Boy shorts, bikini briefs. Red, purple, polka-dotted... Lisbon gaped.

"I wasn't sure what kind of underwear you'd prefer," Jane said matter of factly. "So I got all kinds."

Lisbon picked up a black scrap of silk with dawning horror. "You bought me a _thong_?"

He shrugged. "I wanted you to have a full range of options."

Lisbon, looking at the pile before her, realized he'd bought three pairs of the exact style and brand she bought most regularly, though he'd selected brighter colors than she normally chose for herself. Which meant that Jane knew exactly what kind of underwear she wore on a daily basis and for once, he wasn't exploiting the opportunity to tease her incessantly about her predictable nature. This, in turn, implied that he'd purposefully bought a collection of the wrong kinds of underwear and lied about the reason specifically so she wouldn't feel uncomfortable about that fact. She was silent for a minute, processing the fact that Jane had felt the need to pay close enough attention to her over the years that he had a more than passing familiarity with her undergarments. She looked at the bras. They were all the right size, too. Unable to fully process the ramifications of this revelation, she finally said, somewhat bemused, "Thanks, Jane."

Jane, clearly expecting a negative reaction, looked pleased. "You're very welcome, my dear."

"What did you get for yourself?" Lisbon said.

He turned out the second bag, revealing a collection of t-shirts, jeans, boxers, socks, and a light blue hooded sweatshirt with a zipper in the front.

Lisbon picked up the sweatshirt in amazement. "Wow. You really are going deep cover, aren't you?"

"What?" he said defensively. "It looked comfortable."

Catching sight of the third bag, her eyes widened. "Did you buy new _shoes_?"

He rolled his eyes but showed her the casual shoes he'd bought for himself. "Are those Vans?" she gasped, astonished.

"I thought they went with the look," Jane said, nettled.

Lisbon shook her head. "My God. _I'm_ not even going to recognize you once you're in this get up."

He ignored this. "I got some for you, too." He produced three shoe boxes for her to his one, opening each in turn. The first held a pair of casual shoes she could wear for every day, the second, a pair of sandals that she could wear with either jeans or the sundresses, and the third, a pair of high end running shoes that probably cost three times as much as she'd ever spent on a pair of shoes in her life.

She bit her lip, touched by his thoughtful choices. "Thanks, Jane."

"My pleasure," he said softly, gazing at her intently.

She cleared her throat. "Should we, uh, should we eat? I'm starved."

They ate their dinner on the bed, then shared the raspberry chile corn muffins, which actually turned out to be quite good.

"What do you think of Montrose and Soren?" Lisbon said, picking up a crumb from the bedspread with her forefinger and sticking it in her mouth. "Think we can trust them?"

Jane swallowed a mouthful of corn muffin. "At the moment, I don't trust anyone outside this room."

"Come on," she said. "You have to have picked up something from them."

He considered. "My initial impression is that they're straight. Soren's ex-military, has a family. They're his moon and stars, and he prides himself on being a man his kids can look up to as a good example." Lisbon, who hadn't heard Soren say two words since she'd met him, didn't bother to ask how he knew this. He went on. "Montrose is a hard worker, impatient with lazy coworkers, and has at least two dogs. She reminds me a little of you, actually," he admitted. "Intense and driven, but compassionate." He looked over at her. "I think you two could be good friends."

"So you don't think they're secretly Red John's minions?" She said it partially to mock him, but a small part of her was also looking for reassurance. Dammit—he'd succeeded in infecting her with his paranoia.

"I'm not certain, but I'm inclined to think not."

Lisbon let out a tiny sigh of relief.

"That doesn't mean they can't be manipulated by him unwittingly," Jane warned her.

"I suppose," Lisbon said, disgruntled. "Still, it's nice to feel like we've got backup we can count on if we need it."

He shook his head. "I'm not counting on it. And I don't want you to, either. We need to be prepared for anything. We can only count on each other."

The words hung heavily in the air between them. His words painted a bleak picture, but Lisbon found herself drawing comfort from them nonetheless. Jane was here, by her side. If anyone tried to mess with them, he would come up with a plot that would make them regret the day they'd been born. And if even on top of that, that person tried to hurt them, she'd shoot them between the eyes. Once she'd gotten a new gun, that is.

She bit her lip. "Jane…"

He looked over at her. "Yes, my dear?"

"Thank you," she said, her voice low and tight. "For all of this. For coming with me."

He looked at her steadily. "I will always be here for you, no matter what happens," he said simply.

She cut her eyes away, not ready to deal with the full implications of this statement, or with the tide of emotion rising inside her in response to the sentiment. "Well—thanks." She cleared her throat. "Do you, uh, want to watch TV?"

"Sure," Jane said, amused.

She turned on the television and found an old movie on cable that she hoped would be sufficient distraction to prevent Jane from making any more life-altering declarations. She was afraid if either of them said any more, he would want to have a real conversation about the non-professional aspects of their situation, and she was in no way prepared for that.

Jane settled in comfortably beside her. They watched the movie together in companionable silence. Lisbon tried not to be distracted by his proximity. Namely, the fact that he was sitting close enough to her that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. Needless to say, she only met with marginal success.

By the time the movie was three-quarters of the way over, however, she was having trouble smothering her yawns.

Jane looked over at her. "Still tired?"

"Yeah," she said ruefully. "Yesterday was quite a day. Guess I'm still recovering."

Jane hesitated. "I can sleep on the floor, if you'd prefer."

Her cheeks heated. "Don't be silly. I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor. There's no reason we can't share."

He looked at her closely. "You sure?"

"It's fine, Jane," she said, exasperation winning out over embarrassment. "We can be adults about this, can't we?"

He hesitated again. "Very well."

She got up and grabbed the sleep shorts he'd bought her. "I'm going to get ready for bed." She went to the bathroom, determinedly ignoring the way his eyes had flitted to her legs in his shirt and lingered there. _You're sitting very close to me, and you're not wearing very much clothing._ She hurried to close the door behind her, her heart beating fast.

She went through her bedtime routine by rote, her mind a million miles away as she brushed her teeth. Weapons facility. Fireball in the sky. Derosa running. The look in Guidall's eyes when he'd seen her. Protective custody, effective immediately. I now pronounce you husband and wife. _That kiss_. The team—gone from her daily life, just like that. Jane, insisting on coming with her. Lorelei Martins. Red John. Jane, _giving up Red John_. For her.

The image of Jane with a smoking shotgun in his hands flashed through her mind's eye. Jane, smiling at her after surprising her with a pony in her office.

She splashed cool water on her face. Yeah. She could totally deal with sleeping in the same bed as Jane. No problem.

She went back out to the bedroom to face her doom. "Bathroom's all yours," she said neutrally. She mentally congratulated herself on her voice only going a shade higher than normal as she uttered the words.

"Thanks," he said, getting up. "I won't be long."

She nodded and climbed back into bed. All desire to sleep deserted her completely. She turned out the light nearest her and closed her eyes anyway.

She felt Jane slide under the covers a couple minutes later and turn out the light. "Good night, Teresa," he whispered into the darkness.

"Good night, Jane," she murmured back, her eyes still closed.

A minute passed. Lisbon became aware of the undeniable sensation of having someone's eyes on her. She cracked an eye open to find Jane staring at her from his pillow.

"Jesus, Jane!" She smacked him on the chest. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Sorry," he said unrepentantly. He reached out and took hold of the hand she'd just smacked him with. "I just…wanted to thank you."

"Thank me for what?" she said, confused. He was the one who'd given up everything for her. Including his decade long quest. _She was not thinking about that_.

"For letting me come along," he said. He started playing with her fingers. "I know this isn't easy for you."

"It's not easy for either of us," she reminded him, her eyes riveted to what he was doing to her hand.

"You know what I mean," he said softly.

She nodded dumbly, not having any clue what to say. She couldn't think straight while he was setting the nerve endings in her hand on fire like that.

"I wouldn't last a day without you, you know," he whispered.

She lifted her gaze to meet his. "You managed fine in Vegas, if I recall."

"No," he said quietly. "I didn't. So thank you, for not making me go through that again." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles.

She wanted to remind him that he could have come back from Vegas any damn time he pleased, but her brain was too scrambled to engage in an argument with Jane logic, so she whispered instead, "Thank you for being here when I needed you."

He smiled in contentment and threaded his fingers through hers. "No place I'd rather be."

She looked at their hands intertwined on the sheets between them.

He was still wearing his paper ring.

xxx

A/N2: Also after writing so many fics for this fandom I have definitely noticed an inclination to repeat myself. I apparently have a preoccupation with Jane being secretly obsessed with Lisbon's undergarments, and also with the idea of him clothes shopping for her. Possibly supported by canon after Violets? Just go with me on this, okay? Also sharing a bed without having sex, but I know for sure I'm not alone on that one. :)


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Shout out to janesteakozy for correctly guessing my favorite part of the last chapter - yes, the part where Lisbon is thinking about the rings and the frog in the bathroom was the part I was talking about. Thanks to you all for reading and reviewing. Your feedback is very much appreciated.

xxx

Lisbon woke the next morning to find her face less than a foot from Jane's, their legs tangled up together, and the discovery that her hand was no longer her own. Jane had laid claim to it, cradling it protectively against his heart with his. She turned her head to assess her location. Dammit, she thought, annoyed. They were in the exact middle of the bed, which meant she couldn't even reasonably blame this all on Jane. They'd gravitated to each other in the night.

When she turned her head back, Jane greeted her with a sleepy smile. "Morning, sunshine," he said, closing his eyes and cradling her hand closer.

"Morning," she said faintly. His mouth was dangerously close to hers. Only a quarter pillow span away. "I've gotta—" she pulled her hand away and headed for the bathroom. Jane grunted unhappily and flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in her pillow.

Shaking her head, she used the facilities, dressed, and brushed her teeth.

When she went back to the bedroom, Jane was sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes sleepily, his hair sticking up in the back like a little boy. Her heart did a funny little flip at the sight of him among the rumpled sheets.

He yawned. "What time do we have to be back at the rehabilitation center?"

She made a face. "Don't call it that."

"They're trying to brainwash us into forgetting our old lives and adopting personas manufactured by the vast government machine. The term seems appropriate to me."

She rolled her eyes. "We need to be back there at nine."

"Excellent," Jane said, pleased. "Plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast, then." It was just after seven. "I think we should walk, get a little fresh air."

"That sounds great," Lisbon admitted. She'd been cooped up in cars, planes, and office buildings far too long. She was dying to stretch her legs.

They found a diner about a ten minute walk from the motel. Lisbon ordered blueberry pancakes and a black coffee. Jane, predictably, ordered tea and eggs.

"So, are you going to start drinking coffee now so no one suspects your true identity?" Lisbon teased.

He paused and raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to give up coffee and start drinking tea?"

Lisbon instinctively clutched her coffee cup closer to her. "Lots of people drink coffee," she said defensively. "Drinking nothing but tea is more likely to stick out."

He took a sip of his tea. "I think my cover can withstand the strain."

When their food arrived, Lisbon tucked into her pancakes—they were excellent. She looked up to see Jane smiling down at his eggs.

"Good eggs?"

"Meh. Fair to middling. Nothing to write home about."

She kicked him under the table. "What are you smiling at over there, then?"

His smile widened. "Oh, nothing. I just won a bet with myself, that's all."

"A bet about what?"

He grinned at her. "I always knew you were a cuddler. But it's nice to have definitive proof to settle the matter once and for all."

She flushed. She kicked him again, a little harder this time. "Hush. I didn't see you trying to get away."

"Why would I try to get away?" he said, taking a sip of tea. "You're quite good at it."

"Ha, ha."

"Do you take requests?" he asked. "Because I wouldn't mind being the little spoon, if you're offering."

"It's not too late for me to change my mind about you sleeping on the floor, you know," Lisbon warned.

"Well, I can't have that, now that I've known the delights of sharing a bed with you," Jane said. "Very well. I'll be good."

"That'll be the day," Lisbon muttered.

Jane smiled and finished his eggs.

xxx

They spent the morning in more trainings. The afternoon was devoted to drilling each other on the details of their cover identities under the watchful eyes of Agents Montrose and Soren.

After the lunch break, Jane handed her a sheaf of papers. "Here. I re-wrote some of your fake identity."

"What? Why?" Lisbon said. She looked down at the sheaf of papers, which had heavy black lines drawn through much of the text, with copious notes in the margins in Jane's distinctive scrawl.

Montrose frowned. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. We spent a lot of time crafting the backgrounds for these personas."

"Yes, but you didn't factor in what a terrible liar Teresa is," Jane said. "She needs to have a background that has enough parallels to her real life that she can actually pull this off."

"Need I remind you, I just spent two months undercover?" Lisbon said. "I think I can handle myself."

"Yet here we are, running for our lives," Jane said. "We already discussed this, Teresa. Don't be difficult." He pointed to a heavily marked up section on the first page. "Here, I made you from Michigan instead of Connecticut." He addressed Montrose. "Her grandparents lived there, so she has memories of the place from growing up. She'll be able to draw on that more convincingly than anything about life on the east coast."

He turned to Lisbon. "Also, I changed your fake birthday. Nobody would ever believe you were a Gemini. You can get by as a Scorpio, though, so I made your birthday be at the end of October."

"What sign is she really?" Montrose asked curiously.

"Virgo, of course. Can't you tell? It's written all over her."

"Is part of my cover that I care about all this astrology crap?" Lisbon said irritably. "Because if not, what the hell does it matter?"

"The devil is in the details, my dear."

Lisbon scanned the second page. "You put down that I worked my way through college as a dolphin trainer at Sea World?!"

"Well, that is, until you quit in protest of the inhumane captivity of wild animals, of course," Jane said.

"In what way is this close to my real life?" she demanded.

"You love animals. You wanted to be a vet when you were little. If you had continued down that path, the Sea World gig might have gotten you on your way."

"I couldn't have just volunteered at the local animal shelter like a normal person?"

"Meh. Trite and unoriginal."

She read further down the sheet. Her mouth fell open in indignation. "I'm not telling people I had a pet flamingo named Jacinta that followed me around the park, Jane!"

"Jacinta wasn't really a pet, Teresa. You nursed her back to health after a traumatic event, and she imprinted on you like a baby duck. She was always free to go her own way, but she chose to stay with you out of loyalty. The two of you had a very special bond."

Montrose intervened. "Do you hear yourself right now? You need to cut that out."

"Yes, Jane, honestly," Lisbon said in exasperation. "Can't you be serious for once in your life?"

"I was talking to you," Montrose said.

"To me?" Lisbon said, indignant. "What did I do?"

"You keep calling him Jane. You don't think it might be problematic for the cover if you continue to call your husband by the last name of a man who supposedly has no connection to you whatsoever?"

"I—oh," Lisbon said, flustered. "Sorry. It's habit. We've known each other so long, it's hard to get used to the idea of calling him by a different name."

"He doesn't seem to have any issues calling you by your first name," Montrose pointed out. "You need to break the habit. Start calling him Patrick."

Lisbon looked over at Jane, feeling oddly reluctant. Calling him Patrick seemed so…intimate.

Jane looked back at her expectantly.

"Go on," Montrose urged her. "The sooner you start practicing, the better."

Lisbon bit her lip. "Patrick," she tested out.

His pupils dilated.

Lisbon went crimson.

Montrose looked back and forth between them. "Uh. I'll give you two a moment." She beat a hasty retreat.

"Personally, I thought the pet flamingo was a charming detail," Soren said, his face expressionless. "Jacinta's story is really moving, once you hear her backstory."

Xxx

After the marshals released them for the day, Jane informed her he intended to spend the evening at the race track casino to work on their "nest egg."

"Would you like to come along?" he asked. "I'm sure we could find you a suitable poker game to entertain you."

"No, thanks," Lisbon said. "I'm feeling antsy after sitting around in that office all day. I think I'll go for a run, try out those new running shoes."

"Very well. I'll probably be late getting back to the hotel. Will you be all right for dinner on your own?"

She rolled her eyes. "I think I'll manage."

"Be careful on your run," he said, worry creeping into his voice.

"I'll be fine. Don't fuss."

"I won't, as long as you promise to be careful."

"I promise." She hesitated. "Have a good time at the casino… Patrick."

"You and your pet names," he teased, but he looked pleased. He kissed her on the cheek, causing her to blink in surprise and secret pleasure. He winked. "Don't wait up, darling."

"Very funny," Lisbon said, but she couldn't hide her smile, either.

Xxx

Lisbon enjoyed her long run; the new shoes were excellent. After stopping to grab a bite to eat, she headed back to the motel and showered. She'd borrowed a paperback from Montrose, so she settled into bed with the book and read until she got sleepy. After going through her nighttime routine and getting back in bed, annoyingly, she found herself unable to sleep right away, thinking about Jane and when he might be back.

It was just her security consciousness talking, she thought uneasily. There was a threat to her life out there, after all. It was only natural that she couldn't relax, anticipating the door being flung open at any time in the middle of the night with no warning. But she didn't quite believe this comforting story. If it were true, she wouldn't be thinking so much about how big and cold the bed felt without him.

She fell asleep thinking about Jane kissing her cheek and requesting to be the little spoon.

Xxx

Jane came in a little after one am, smelling like cigarette smoke and expensive liquor.

"Good evening, wife," he whispered, crawling into bed beside her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, Jane. You smell like smoke."

"I got invited to a private game," he said, stretching out beside her and snuggling close. "The host was a smoker. But he did have excellent scotch."

"Are you drunk?" Lisbon said, thinking this might account for the snuggling.

He shook his head. "I only had one glass. It was very good."

Lisbon shooed him out of bed before he could get too comfortable. "Go take a shower. I don't want the sheets smelling like smoke."

"Yes, dearest," he said, shooting her a lazy grin. He went off to shower, leaving Lisbon to reflect that it was a good thing he smelled so terrible, or she might have been completely defenseless against that particular smile.

The shower did its work too well, however. Ten minutes later, he crawled back into bed, smelling absolutely amazing. Lisbon inched away subtly.

He grunted unhappily. "Don't run away. Or I won't give you your presents."

"Jane—"

"Patrick," he corrected firmly.

"Patrick," she repeated obediently. "You already gave me all that stuff you bought yesterday, remember?"

"That was yesterday," he scoffed. "I'm talking about the gifts I got for you as the spoils of my victory tonight."

"Oh, Lord." She sat up and leaned against the headboard. She switched the bedside light back on. "It's not emeralds again, is it? Because I gotta say, I can think of better ways of keeping a low profile than flashing a bunch of fancy jewelry around—"

"Shhh," he said. "It's not emeralds. Though I maintain that emeralds do look lovely with your eyes."

"What is it, then?"

Propping himself on one elbow, he produced two cell phones and handed them to her. One was a smart phone, the other a burner. He tapped the smart phone. "This is for Teresa Meyers. I put my number in there for you already." He tapped the burner in turn. "I thought you could use this to call the team every so often. Or in case of emergency."

She flipped it open and saw the phone numbers for Cho, Van Pelt, and Rigsby listed in the contacts, as well as one for Jane himself. She closed it reluctantly. "We're not supposed to have any contact with our old lives, Ja-Patrick."

"They're burners," Jane pointed out. "Untraceable. The phone numbers listed there are for burners I put in the mail for them this afternoon."

"What about the last one?"

He held up two more phones, a burner and another smart phone just like the one he'd given to her. "The number in the burner goes to my burner, the number in the smart phone goes to this one," he said, indicating the smart phone. He grinned. "I put us on a family plan."

"Very economical for a man who bought seven cell phones in a single day," Lisbon said dryly.

"Just so. I had more important things to spend my money on."

She raised her eyebrows. "Such as?"

He tossed the cell phones aside. Still propped up on his elbow, he took hers from her and set them on the nightstand, then took her hand in his and pressed two small objects into her palm.

Lisbon looked down at her hand. Two gold rings lay nestled in her palm. The first, a wide gold circle with ridges cut into the band in a style that mimicked the paper folds of origami. The second was also gold, with a slimmer band and a delicate golden rose in place of a gemstone. Her breath caught in her throat. He'd taken the origami ring he'd given her and separated the critical design concepts into two rings.

"I thought I'd better get you a proper wedding band," he said softly, tracing the line of the first ring in her palm with the tip of his finger. "You need one that will last."

She held up the rose ring. "And this one?" she asked, her throat dry.

"That's your engagement ring, of course."

"That's funny," Lisbon said. Her heart was beating too fast. "I don't remember getting engaged. I seem to recall something more along the lines of blackmail."

He took the rose ring from her. "I thought of the perfect way to ask you."

She swallowed hard. "Does it involve Jacinta the flamingo?" she asked faintly.

He chuckled. "No. Although perhaps I will recruit Jacinta for a future anniversary celebration, now that you've given me the idea."

She licked her lips. "So what would you say? If…if this was real."

"Oh, I'm not telling," he said cheerfully.

She stared at him. "What?" Now she wanted to hit him. "Why the hell did you bring it up, then?"

His voice was smug. "I decided mentioning it, and then not telling you is the perfect revenge."

"Your revenge for me pushing you into the pool is to not tell me your fake proposal?" Lisbon said, incredulous.

"Don't worry, my dear." He flashed his wicked grin at her. "If you turn out to be a good wife, perhaps I'll tell you in due time."

She slugged him on the arm. "If you're expecting me to bring you your slippers or something, you'd better be prepared to wait a very, very long time."

He chuckled, then drew her hand towards him. "I assure you, I did not enter this marriage with any expectations involving slipper fetching," he said, slipping the rose ring onto the third finger of her right hand. He raised the hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "It's not at all part of the scoring rubric."

"Well—good," Lisbon said, flustered again. Why did he keep kissing her? It was very unsettling.

"What about you?" he said calmly, taking her other hand. "Any particular criteria I should be aware of to shorten my odds on winning husband of the year?"

She raised her eyebrows. "What's the point? You never do what I tell you anyway."

"Try me. You might be surprised."

She shook her head. "Nothing immediately comes to mind." She looked down at the rose ring. "You seem to already be taking care of all my worldly needs."

The silence of the room seemed to press in and focus on the whisper of his fingertips ghosting along her skin as she watched him slide the gold origami ring onto her left ring finger. Like its sibling on her other hand, it was a perfect fit.

Jane directed a gentle smile at his handiwork. "Third time's the charm," he murmured happily.

"Four, technically," she said, thinking of the gold ring on her necklace. "If you're counting rings, that is."

He smiled up at her, his eyes soft. "Can't hurt to have a little extra insurance, can it?"

"I guess," she said uncertainly. It was difficult to think straight when he looked at her like that.

He held up another ring, a match to the gold origami ring, but wider and more masculine. "Will you do the honors?"

She hesitated. "All right." She took a calming breath she hoped he wouldn't notice. She took the ring from him. She slid it onto his finger quickly, her hands shaking a little.

Mercifully, Jane didn't comment on her trembling fingers. He merely sighed in contentment and lay back on his pillow. "Not a bad day's work, if I do say so myself."

Lisbon switched the light off and slid down under the covers again. "You certainly are an efficient shopper." She couldn't begin to imagine how he'd managed to find two rings so perfectly suited to replace the paper ring he'd given her two days before.

He laughed. "Ah, I needn't have bothered with the romantic symbolism. I should have known efficiency would be the element that impressed you."

"Don't fish. The rings are beautiful, Patrick." She was proud of herself for remembering, but the name still sat strangely on her tongue. It would take some getting used to.

"There, you admit you like them—now I am content." He closed his eyes. "Sleep well, Teresa."

"Sleep well…Patrick."


	9. Chapter 9

The next day with the marshals passed in much the same manner as the day before. Montrose and Soren continued to drill Jane and Lisbon on the details of their cover identities as well as repeatedly reminding them of the need to notify the marshals immediately if they noticed anyone suspicious lurking around in their new lives. The reminders grated on Lisbon. She was used to giving lectures about proper procedures, not receiving them.

She could see Jane plotting to call the marshals every two days to annoy the marshals with ever more elaborate conspiracy theories. She kicked him under the table.

"What did I do?" he said, startled. "I haven't even said anything."

"I can see you planning to invent suspicious characters around every corner for your own amusement," she said darkly. "Do I need to remind you of the story of the boy who cried wolf?"

He stared at her. "You're getting a little spooky, you know that?"

Montrose looked alarmed. "Yes, please refrain from practical jokes relating to your safety, Patrick."

"Ah, so practical jokes in other contexts are acceptable, then?" Jane said. "Excellent. Glad to hear not every aspect of the federal bureaucracy is completely lacking in humor."

Lisbon kicked him again.

Jane rubbed his leg and turned to Montrose. "Okay, now that we've settled that matter, can we be released for the day? I have big plans this afternoon."

Montrose looked like she was suffering from what Lisbon privately thought of as an 'incipient Jane headache.' "Not quite. We're planning to transition you to Salt Lake tomorrow, so we need to review a few logistics before we let you go."

Jane brightened. "Really? That's great. It will be nice to settle into our new lives properly. Teresa hates the unsettled feeling of staying in a hotel indefinitely."

Lisbon, who had not expressed any such opinion aloud, looked at him somewhat askance, but didn't contradict him.

Montrose outlined the details of the transfer, advising that the marshals would drive them to Salt Lake to minimize their 'footprint' when it came to flight manifests and the like. Once there, the marshals would settle them into another hotel until they found a more permanent housing solution to their liking. They would have a week or so to settle in before starting their new jobs.

Montrose let them go at last, letting them know that she and Soren would pick them up the next morning at eight am sharp. Lisbon thanked her, then allowed Jane to hustle her out the door. She didn't know what he was in such a hurry for. They had no claims on their time beyond what the marshals demanded to ensure their safety.

Once out on the pavement, Lisbon turned to Jane. "So, big plans, huh? You planning to hit the casino again?"

"No need," he said. "I got everything we need last night."

"So what are the plans, then?" Lisbon said, confused.

"My plan is for us to go to the botanical gardens," he said. "It's a good thing I planned it for today. If I'd waited, we might have missed our chance."

"Pretty sure we could have managed to rearrange our busy schedules to fit it in," Lisbon said dryly.

"Glad you're on board," Jane said with a grin. He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Lisbon took the proffered arm and followed his lead.

Xxx

Despite Jane's obvious excitement, Lisbon hadn't formed any particular expectations of her own about the botanical gardens, so she was somewhat taken aback when she realized how extensive the grounds were. "This place is huge," she said in wonder.

"Thirty-six acres," Jane confirmed. He tugged on her hand. "Come on. Let's go explore."

They meandered around the grounds, starting at the children's fantasy garden and an exhibit on bugs that Jane appeared to find particularly fascinating. Lisbon, for her part, was more preoccupied by how strange it was to spend time with Jane that didn't involve chasing down a murderer than by admiring the many species of bugs on display. She decided she quite liked it.

From there, they walked through the festival green past a pond with a pair of fountains shooting water up from the surface, then wandered through a series of paths lined with plants Lisbon had never heard of. They spent a considerable length of time in the Mediterranean and Desert Conservatories, examining the abundance of plant varieties on display in the multi-level glass enclosure. Lisbon hadn't known there were that many different kind of cactus in existence.

Her favorite part was the heritage farm. She was especially charmed by the farm house with its quintessential white picket fence and wild front garden with its abundance of spring blossoms.

For his part, Jane seemed particularly taken with the Japanese gardens. He spent a considerable period of time admiring the rock gardens, then lingered over the pond complete with a three tiered waterfall. He leaned against the railing and looked out over the water, apparently deep in thought.

After several minutes of silence, Lisbon nudged him. "Hey. Should we start thinking about heading back?"

He frowned. "Can we stay a few more minutes? This is such a lovely spot."

"Sure," she said indulgently. It's not like they had a lot to pack. "No rush."

He straightened and turned towards her. "I have some things I want to say to you."

She blinked in surprise at the conviction in his voice. "Okay."

He looked at her intently. "Do you promise that no matter what I say in the next few minutes, you won't push me into this pond?"

Lisbon considered this. "Nope."

He smiled wryly and looked out over the pond. "Fair enough, I guess." He looked down at his hands for a moment. Belatedly, it occurred to her that he was actually nervous.

She touched his arm. "Ja—Patrick. What is it?"

"Sorry. I want to have a real conversation with you. And…we're not very good at those." He raked a hand through his curls. "At least, not when there's no murder involved. This is harder than I thought it would be."

Lisbon tensed, a pit of anxiety opening in her stomach. "What do you want to talk about?"

He took a deep breath. "I know you've been having a hard time with this whole marriage thing. The timing of all of this has been…less than ideal."

She raised her eyebrows. "Is there ever an ideal time to be running for your life from professional killers?"

"I just mean—" He blew out a breath. "I came to a decision recently."

She eyed him like he was a bomb that was about to go off. "What kind of decision?"

He didn't look at her. "I figured this case—the Derosa case—that it would be over soon. I figured a few more weeks, tops. I promised myself when it was over, that I would tell you—but then—Sanchez—and I've been so worried about Red John and you know, the whole cantaloupe thing—"

"Oh, my God," she said, her eyes round. "You really think Sanchez is working with Red John?" She'd rejected the idea when Jane had first brought it up, but Jane did have an annoying tendency to be right about this sort of thing when you least wanted him to be. She considered the further implications of this possibility and suppressed a shudder. If it was true… Eww. She couldn't believe she'd actually kissed the man. Moreover, that she'd enjoyed it.

He blinked. "No. I mean, I thought it was a possibility. For a while." He cleared his throat. "It's possible my judgment may have been somewhat clouded on the matter. But I've been observing him more closely the past few days, and I came to the conclusion that while he certainly had intentions towards you, they weren't of a sinister nature."

Lisbon exhaled with relief. "Thank God."

"What I'm trying to tell you," he said, piqued. "Is that I've been trying to express some intentions of my own."

She licked her lips, which were suddenly bone dry for some reason. Her heart beat too loudly in her ears. "What kind of intentions?"

His eyes didn't leave hers. "Romantic intentions."

She stopped breathing. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind in the space of half a second, zooming through her brain and colliding with one another. A thousand cups of coffee and tea. Trust falls. Was he serious? If he was joking about this, she was going to kill him. Late nights on the couch. _That kiss._ Ponies. Gunshots.

If he pretended to forget this, she was going to kill him.

A great rushing noise filled her ears. Was it possible she was having some kind of delusional fit? She shook her head a little to clear it, but nothing changed. Jane was still standing there, staring into her eyes like they held the secrets of the universe. She stared back into his, thinking about what an extraordinary color they were. He swore they were green, but she maintained that sometimes they shifted to blue. Ocean eyes, she thought, a little dazed. "I—" She stopped. She had no idea what to say.

"Stunned disbelief wasn't exactly the reaction I was hoping for," Jane commented. "But since you haven't pushed me into the pond yet, I guess I can't complain."

"What exactly do you mean," she said, careful to keep her voice measured and even, "by 'romantic intentions?'"

He looked amused, the bastard. "You need me to spell it out?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

"Very well." He stepped closer to her. "I have feelings for you. I'm attracted to you." With each statement, he inched closer. "I want to be with you." Lisbon forcibly restrained her instinct to back away.

She swallowed hard. His proximity was scrambling her brain again. "You just…decided this? All of a sudden?"

He rolled his eyes. "There's nothing sudden about it, woman. I've been trying to resist you for the past ten years."

"Gee, that's so flattering," she said sarcastically.

"You should be flattered. I'm saying you're irresistible."

"But—why this? Why now?" she asked, a little desperately.

He looked out over the pond, his expression wry. "I really thought my plan was going to work, you know."

"What plan?" she asked with suspicion. If this was some kind of trick—

"My fake breakdown."

This was the last thing she wanted to talk about. Those awful six months when she'd been walking around with a cold hole in her chest.

"I thought if I gave up those six months…a year, even, that it would finally be over," he continued.

Lisbon shuddered at the thought of carrying that cold cavity in her chest for six more months. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I thought that by the time I came back to you, I wouldn't have this cloud hanging over me. I thought I would be free."

There were those words again. Back to her. "But the plan didn't work," she said, trying to regain the thread of the conversation.

He sighed. "No, it didn't. Instead of removing the threat of Red John, all I managed to do was focus his attention on you." He looked back over at her. "I thought about you a lot while I was in Vegas, you know." He sighed again. "More than I should have."

"More than you should have?" Lisbon echoed.

"I was supposed to be hatching a cunning plan to outwit Red John, remember? At first I thought being away from you would help me focus. But the longer I was there, the more time I was spending thinking about you. Thinking about all the things I wanted to say to you when I saw you again." He smiled ruefully. "Turns out you're just as distracting when you're five hundred miles away as when you're in my immediate vicinity." His eyes found her mouth. "Very nearly, anyway."

She didn't know what to say to this. Part of her that she would never admit to was secretly pleased to have been a distraction. Another, larger part of her found it depressing beyond belief that even now, she registered only as a sideline in comparison to Red John. Another part of her was fairly distracted herself, by the way he was looking at her mouth. "So sorry to have been a distraction from the main event," she said finally, sarcasm mercifully coming to her rescue.

"Come now, you know I didn't mean it like that," Jane protested.

"No, I don't," she snapped, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. "The entire time I've known you, you've been obsessed with your quest for revenge. And now, what, revenge isn't filling the void the way it used to, so you need something new to latch onto? Really, I'm thrilled that you find the prospect of spending time with me more appealing than obsessing over a serial killer in your down time."

He sighed. "Teresa. This isn't some kind of con. I'm trying to tell you I've had feelings for you for a long time. I'm not going to pretend to forget this in the morning."

That stung. "You did before."

He grimaced. "I know. I owe you an apology for that."

"Another blanket apology? One I can use for 'my top issue?'"

He looked pained. "No. A real one."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. Let's hear it."

He met her gaze squarely. "I'm sorry I pretended to forget telling you I loved you."

She unbent a fraction, amazed and relieved that he was willing to acknowledge the moment at last. When she spoke, her voice was smaller than she would have liked. "Why did you?"

"You have to admit it was terrible timing," he pointed out. "I didn't mean to say it at all. It just…spilled out. And then I started thinking more about the cantaloupe and I panicked. I thought convincing Red John I didn't care about you was the best way to protect you. Professing my undying love to you was hardly going to help sell that story."

She shook her head. "You can't have it both ways, Jane. You say you wanted to distance yourself from me to keep me safe, but at the same time, you still went out of your way to tease me about riding on the handlebars of your bike and to hold my hand in the desert."

He raised his eyebrows. "See point A about you being irresistible."

"My point is, I can never be sure where I stand with you. You're the king of mixed signals."

He sighed. "That's because I have two priorities directly in conflict with each other."

"What priorities would those be?" she asked, still suspicious.

"Keeping you safe and being close to you."

Unable to help herself, she said, "How many times do I have to tell you I'm a cop? It's not your job to protect me."

"I don't care that you're a cop," he said stubbornly. "You're a person I care about. That means I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

"No matter what I have to say about it," Lisbon said flatly.

"Yes," he said mulishly. Then he sighed. "Look—can we hold off on arguing about this particular point until after we settle the other thing?"

She hesitated. This seemed like a critical point. On the other hand, it was unlikely she'd ever change Jane's mind about this, and she desperately wanted to know what else he had to say. "Fine."

"So—where were we?"

"You were telling me how you were sure your fake breakdown was going to work, until it didn't," she said dourly.

"Right. I know we have some things we need to resolve about my time in Vegas. But I hope you know it wasn't easy for me, those six months."

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "Constant gambling and nothing to interrupt your every inclination to obsess about revenge. You were in your element."

"No," he said soberly. "It was awful. I hated being away from you. From the rest of the team, too. But I thought it would be worth it, if only I could finish it, so I hung on. By the time Lorelei came along, I was so relieved that it was finally coming to an end. I just wanted to get on with it."

Lisbon didn't know what to say to this, either.

He looked at her closely. "What are you thinking?"

She sighed. "I'm thinking that I hate the idea of you being alone and isolated all that time. But I'm also still angry at you for letting me worry about you that whole time, when you could have so easily found a way to let me know you were all right. And I'm pissed off because you didn't tell me your plan. If you had, I would have told you what a terrible idea it was, and maybe we could have saved ourselves from going through the whole awful mess in the first place."

"That assumes I would have listened to you," he pointed out. "Which is doubtful. At the time, I was convinced it was the best way to draw Red John out in the open."

"Right," she said, heartsick. "Same old story—Red John comes first, and you have no intention of listening to me. But you think you want to be with me during the times between schemes to bring down Red John. Does that pretty much sum it up?"

"No," he said, annoyed. "That's not what I want at all. What I want is to get Red John out of our lives once and for all so we can get on with our lives with no threats of murder hanging over our heads."

She shrugged helplessly. "But nothing's really changed. He's still out there, and we can't do a damn thing to catch him while we're stuck in WITSEC."

"Things _have_ changed. The thing that kept me away from you before was that I thought if I could persuade Red John I didn't care about you, then you would be safe. But ever since that conversation with Lorelei the other day, I realized that ship has sailed. He already knows how I feel about you. There's nothing to be gained by pretending anymore, so I might as well latch myself upon you like a leech."

Lisbon wrinkled her nose. "How romantic."

"Aha!" he said, triumphant. "So you admit you want me to be romantic towards you."

She scowled. "I admit nothing."

"Anyway," Jane said, brushing past this. "I think we're safer now than we were in California. That's also a significant change."

She frowned. "I thought you were worried that Red John would figure out some way to infiltrate WITSEC."

"I think it's a possibility," he said. "But before he knew where to find us for sure. He'll at least have to put forth a little effort to find us. Besides, I think he might find this situation we've suddenly found ourselves in… intriguing."

"Like he's going to start watching us wherever we go?" Lisbon said, aghast. She glanced around with a shudder.

"I doubt that. If he does decide to keep tabs on us, it's more likely that he would send a minion to check on us from afar from time to time. But that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

"I'm assuming he's grasped the temporary nature of this situation. I think it's more likely that he'll let it play itself out."

"Play itself out how?"

He sighed. "I think it's a good bet that he believes this time will bring us closer together. He'll like the idea of letting that happen, and then taking the most destructive action he can think of once he's satisfied that I have more to lose."

"And you want to—what? Go along with that idea?" she said, uncertainly.

"No. I mean—not because of him. I just started thinking—it seems likely to me that this time we have in WITSEC is likely to be our only reprieve. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced he won't come after us while we're in WITSEC. I think we're temporarily safe from Scalzi, too. If they're smart, they'll bide their time until the trial and come after you then, when they'll know where you'll be."

"You think so?" This was unexpectedly comforting.

He shrugged. "That's what I would do."

She let out a sigh of real relief. "I do have a lot of confidence in your ability to think like a psychopath."

"Thanks, darling," he said dryly.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Encouraged, he moved closer to her. "So, I was thinking…"

No retreating, she reminded herself. She stood her ground. "Yes?"

He took her hand. "What if this is an opportunity for us?"

"An opportunity for what?" she said, her heart rate picking up as he traced his finger just over the place where the rose ring rested on her right hand.

"I meant what I said before – I think this could be a chance for us to work through some things. This could be an opportunity for us to…explore what we could be to each other."

She looked down at her hand in his, his finger still tracing over her 'engagement ring.' "What does that mean? Now that we're married, you want to date?"

He grimaced. "That hardly seems an accurate description of what I have in mind. Why don't we just call it our grand romantic adventure?"

She drew her hand away from him as reality intruded on the tempting picture he was painting. "I can't date you," she said, a note of hysteria creeping into her voice. "We're married!"

He raised one elegant brow. "So?"

"We're in WITSEC. We're going to be stuck with each other 24/7. Things go badly, there's no escape."

"Fine by me," Jane said. "I have no intention of escaping. As for you, it will probably be best for our blossoming relationship in the long run if you don't have a built in escape hatch easily at hand right at the beginning."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Jane, I was okay, sort of, with this pretend marriage thing, but—"

"I wish you would stop calling it that," Jane interrupted. "That's something like the tenth time you've called our marriage 'fake' or 'pretend.'"

"It _is_ pretend!"

"It's non-traditional," he corrected her. "But there's something real at the heart of it." He ducked his head to look into her eyes. "Isn't there?"

She couldn't quite bring herself to deny the truth of this. She cut her eyes away. "It doesn't matter. This is going to be hard enough without adding an extra layer of emotional crap on top of it. We should just…stick with the original plan."

"This was my original plan," Jane said. "I mean, not the WITSEC part. That was a bit of a curveball. But I've been gearing up to say something to you for a while."

She thought about June eighth, 2007 and peanut M&Ms and realized that for once, the evidence was in Jane's favor. She bit her lip. "Really?"

He nodded. He fixed those ocean eyes on hers again. "Truly."

"Oh," she said lamely, blushing furiously.

He grinned at her. "Have I ever told you how utterly enchanting you are when you blush, my dear?"

She punched him on the arm. "Hush." She couldn't completely hide her pleased smile at the knowledge that he'd clearly been thinking about this for a while, however.

He took her hand again. "I know we've gotten things a bit backwards, with the whole marriage thing. The circumstances around all of this aren't exactly ideal. But despite that, I'm feeling hopeful for the first time in ages. I'm happy. Happy to be here, with you."

Lisbon turned this extraordinary pronouncement over in her mind. "You're…happy?" she asked in wonder. For the first time, she started to seriously consider what he was saying. Maybe dating wasn't a completely horrible idea. If it could make Jane happy, maybe it would be worth the trouble.

"You've made me happy for a long time, Teresa," he said, looking down at her affectionately. "There's nothing new about that."

"You make me happy, too," she said. She cleared her throat. "You know, when you aren't driving me crazy, anyway."

"So what do you say? Can we give this a shot?"

Logic and reason told her this was a colossally bad idea. But the truth was, logic and reason never had managed to win the day when it came to her feelings towards Jane. It hardly seemed likely that they would suddenly triumph now that she knew he wanted her, too. She closed her eyes. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

He kissed her forehead. "I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening, my dear." He put his arms around her, drawing her in close. "I promise you that."

She leaned her head against his shoulder and inhaled his familiar scent. Did this mean he was going to start hugging her more often? As in, even when there were no traumatic events involved? Because she could really get behind that idea.

Belatedly, it occurred to her that she'd let him do all the talking. She owed him a response. A real one. She lifted her head to look up at him. "Jane…" She swallowed hard. "Patrick. I…you know that I—I feel… I have…feelings, too. Right?"

"Shh," he said soothingly, bringing her head back down to his shoulder. "You don't have to say anything right now. We don't have to figure out everything at once, you know. We have time." He stroked her hair. "We have time," he repeated.

She exhaled into his shoulder and slid her arms around his waist. "Okay," she said, tightening her arms around him. She couldn't seem to get close enough to him. But now, she was allowed to try.

He tilted her chin up. "I'm going to kiss you now," he announced. "Properly."

Lisbon gazed up at him in wonder. "You planned this all out, didn't you? A long walk in a beautiful garden, then a heartfelt confession in a romantic spot?"

"You're damn right I did," he said, and bent his head to hers.

The kiss was bone-meltingly sweet. Heartrendingly tender. Lisbon would be lying if she'd claimed her legs were one hundred percent steady beneath her by the time it ended. She curled her fingers around the lapels of his jacket and leaned closer to him to steady herself. Jane didn't appear to have any objections.

He threaded his fingers through her hair and leaned his forehead against hers. "God, I missed you."

She kissed him again. "I missed you, too."

Jane made a low noise in the back of his throat and buried his fingers even more deeply in her hair as he kissed her back.

She pressed closer, but it wasn't enough. She wanted more. More, more, _more_—

Jane made another noise. She belatedly realized she had him backed up against the railing. He was in some danger of falling backwards over it into the pond.

She released his mouth with great reluctance and forced herself to loosen her grip on his jacket lapels. She became aware of a pair of eyes on them. Her heart clenched in fear for half a second before she realized it wasn't someone trying to kill them. It was a woman staring at the two of them with a scandalized expression on her face as she walked down the path holding the hand of her five year old son.

Jane, not seeing the woman with her son and apparently heedless of his dangerous proximity to the pond, reached for her again. "Don't go," he gasped, pulling her mouth back to his. "Stay with me."

"I'm not—" she managed to get out between kisses. "Going anywhere. But I, uh—_oh…_think we need to take it down a notch." She kissed him again. Oh, damn, they were against the railing again. If he fell in, she'd definitely go over with him. "I mean," she said, carefully easing back from the edge of the pond. "At least while we're still in public."

Jane followed her with his mouth. "All right," he said into her mouth. "I can be good."

She snorted despite herself and managed to break away. "Ha."

He zeroed in on her neck. "I can," he insisted, bending his head to press soft kisses up and down the side of her throat. He touched his tongue to her pulse point. "I can be very, very good."

She shivered and curled her fingers around his biceps. "Patrick," she gasped.

He went still, then straightened. "You're right," he said, his voice hoarse. "We need to take it down a notch. I'm going to be in grave danger of embarrassing myself in a public place if I hear you say my name like that again."

She licked her lips. "Patrick," she tried again, her voice steadier this time.

He shuddered. "Or like that."

"This is ridiculous," she huffed. "We're grown adults. We can manage to exert some reasonable level of self-control over ourselves."

"Speak for yourself," he said. He took her hand in his. "Come on. Let's go to a restaurant with dim lighting for dinner."

She raised her eyebrows and fell into step beside him as they walked away from the pond. "Because it's more romantic?"

"No," he said with certainty. "Because my chances of exerting self-control will be greater if I can't see you clearly. In fact, I might need you to sit at another table. Maybe around a corner. Possibly with a bag over your head."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing, but she twined her fingers through his. Whatever came next, she was going to enjoy the sensation of walking through this beautiful place with his hand in hers, for however long it lasted.

Xxx

They had dinner at an Indian place near the hotel. They didn't talk much, but grinned at each other foolishly over their food through most of the meal. God, they really were acting like teenagers, Lisbon realized as she caught herself lightly kicking Jane under the table for the umpteenth time since the beginning of the meal in retaliation for him nudging the bottom of her foot with the toe of his old brown shoe, also for the umpteenth time. Somehow, she couldn't quite bring herself to care that much, though.

This euphoric sense of unreality lasted through the walk back to the hotel and several "good-night" kisses, both outside and inside the hotel door. Outside the door, because Jane insisted on 'walking her to her door and ending the evening properly.' Then inside the door, because of course, it was his door, too.

Lisbon laughingly separated herself from him at last, and headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed. It was only when she was in the middle of washing her face that reality crashed back down around her. Jane was out there in her bed—their bed. Shit. Should she have thought about putting on some better underwear? Should she have brought that damn thong in here? Oh, hell—had she remembered to take her pill that morning? She only had a handful left—she'd need to get a prescription under her new name. She didn't have any condoms on her, and she'd be willing to bet that Jane didn't either. Although maybe he'd changed some of his habits since going to Vegas and sleeping with the mistress of his nemesis.

She felt a flutter of panic. He said he wanted to be with her. But right now, Red John was temporarily out of the picture, sort of. What happened when they went back to their real lives? She was certain Jane would return to his normal obsessive self the minute they were back in the serial killer's orbit. His long, brooding silences and even crazier than usual schemes were bad enough now—how would she bear them if she gave him free rein over even more of her heart than he already had hold of?

"Teresa, are you unspooling in there?" Jane called out from the bedroom. "Come out here so I can talk you down from whatever silly thing you're freaking out over."

Chagrined, she opened the door and saw him lounging on the bed in striped pajama pants and a blue t-shirt, his beautiful curls in disarray from her fingers running through them earlier. She stopped, flummoxed. He was so goddamned beautiful, she thought helplessly.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well? What were you worrying about in there?"

"The same thing I was worrying about before," she admitted. "This may feel like a nice little escape right now, but what happens when Red John strikes again? You're going to go back to your obsession with revenge, and I'm going to be stuck with the fallout from whatever horrible idea you come up with next."

He sighed. "Not exactly the romantic sentiment I was hoping to inspire."

"Well," she said nervously. "I was also thinking about what kind of underwear I was wearing and whether you had any condoms stashed away somewhere."

He shook his head. "I don't think we should have sex right away."

"What?" Lisbon said, startled and dismayed despite her frayed nerves. "Why not?"

"Because you were right. We seem to have skipped over a few important steps along the way. I don't want you to feel like we have to consummate the marriage just because I finally shared my true feelings with you."

She'd been thinking more about the things he could do with his tongue than their married state, to be honest, but at the reminder, she made a face. "You make us sound like some couple in a Victorian novel."

He grinned. "Read a lot of those, have you? I promise when the time comes, I'll try to be as dashing as the duke of your dreams."

She considered throwing a pillow at him, but she'd have to venture closer to the bed to get one, and she wasn't quite prepared to leave the relative safety of the doorway just at the moment. "Shut up."

Noticing her lurking in the doorway, he said idly, "You planning to spend the night in the bathtub? Cause the water's fine in here, I promise," he said, gesturing to the bed.

"No," she muttered. She took two steps closer to the bed and stopped, reluctant to get any closer. She glanced away, hoping he wouldn't read how hurt and exposed she felt after bringing up underwear and contraception, only to be rejected out of hand. Ten times worse than the forgotten 'Love you,' after the afternoon they'd had.

"It's going to be a fine line to walk, I grant you," he said, watching her closely.

She glanced over at him. "What is?"

"Well, on the one hand, I think we should take it slow because I'm convinced that will be the best thing for the long-term health of our relationship. On the other hand, all you had to do was kiss me and I was pretty much ready to molest you in a public park," he said ruefully. "And I have no intention of relinquishing your kisses, now that I've had the opportunity to experience them, so I suppose I will have to buy condoms sooner rather than later. I'm not at all confident in my ability to resist you."

"Really?" she said hopefully, somewhat mollified.

He gave her a look that could only be described as smoldering. "Believe me, once we get started, you will have absolutely no opportunity to doubt my desire for you, my dear. In fact, you'll probably be begging for a reprieve before long. Really, I'm just giving you an opportunity to save your strength for when our moment arrives."

"Big talk," she said, raising her eyebrows. Still, she was cheered by the sentiment. She took one step closer to the bed.

He looked at her, long and steady. "Teresa." He opened his arms to her. "Come here."

She hovered by the foot of the bed, still a little wary. "Why?"

"Because cuddling is going to be the first step of our romantic journey together," he said firmly.

"Oh—all right," she said, relenting. She crawled into bed next to him and let him put his arms around her. It felt amazing, despite everything. "I thought the first step was your little speech in the park today," she muttered into his shoulder.

"Well, if you really want to get technical about it, the first step was when I first stepped into your office ten years ago," he said into her hair. "And I'd really prefer it if you didn't discount the emeralds and the pony, if you're keeping track."

She hid a smile in his t-shirt. "Duly noted."

He stroked her hair. "Teresa." He stopped and cleared his throat. "I—I want you to be sure of me. I want you to know with your whole heart that you can count on me. I know you're not there yet. I'm hoping this time together will help us work through whatever we need to so you can get to that place. That's why I want to wait." He squeezed her tighter, pulling her closer to him. "That's the only reason. I swear."

"Okay," she said in a small voice.

He nuzzled her neck. "It's not going to be easy to keep my hands off you, you know. I'm pretty sure it's going to be torture, actually."

She tilted her neck to give him better access. "Tell me about it," she sighed.


	10. Chapter 10

They woke tangled up together the next morning.

They'd made out on the bed a deliciously long time the night before, but had miraculously managed to keep things from getting out of hand. It seemed the effects of their closeness had lingered with Jane overnight, because Lisbon woke to the sensation of his hard on pressed against her backside.

"Morning," he said, sweeping her hair aside and kissing the back of her neck. He cuddled her closer, not making any attempt to hide the effect she was having on him.

"You change your mind?" Lisbon mocked him. She squirmed against him, a little overwhelmed and a lot turned on by having him pressed against her so intimately.

Jane groaned. "I knew this was going to be torture."

Lisbon turned over to face him. She ran her index finger down the front of his t-shirt. "It's not too late to change your mind, you know."

Jane's eyes went to the clock. "We don't have time," he said regretfully. "Montrose and Soren are coming to pick us up in less than half an hour."

"Spoilsport," Lisbon said.

He kissed her long and deep. "I don't want us to be rushed."

She bit his lip. "Control freak. We always have to do things your way, don't we?"

He put his hand on her ass and ground into her a little. "Not always. I'm very much looking forward to letting you have your way with me in the not too distant future. Any way you want me."

She slapped him on his delightfully firm ass in response. "Go take your shower."

He kissed her nose. "Anything you say, dear one." He got up and walked to the bathroom a little gingerly.

He shut the door behind him and Lisbon heard the shower turn on. She lay in bed a moment longer, distracted by the thought of what he might be doing in there. Then she shook herself out of it. Thinking about that was not helping her situation.

She went to find breakfast instead.

Xxx

The drive to Salt Lake was uneventful but beautiful. Montrose drove. Soren sat shotgun and Jane and Lisbon sat together in the back. Lisbon stared out the window as the vast desert gave way to red canyons and fantastic rock formations, then shifted into mountains and forests. She reflected with a pang of sadness that it was actually quite shocking how little of the country she'd seen. Chicago was her hometown, of course, and she'd driven to every corner of California in the course of her work with the CBI, but between raising her brothers and the demands of her job, she'd never had time to do much traveling for recreation.

"We should go on a road trip," Jane remarked, not for the first time giving the impression that he had plucked the thoughts right out of her head. "Drive around the country."

"Sounds nice," Lisbon murmured, letting herself indulge in the daydream for a moment. The thought of driving around the country with Jane without constantly looking over their shoulders for someone trying to kill them sounded downright appealing.

"We could get an Airstream trailer," he continued. "I've always wanted one of those."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't want to drive around the country in a silver bucket."

"It'd be romantic," Jane protested. "Cozy."

"Sure, Ja—Patrick," she said.

Jane took her hand and smiled at her, eyes twinkling. "I'll look forward to it."

Lisbon looked down at her hand in his, then looked back up at his twinkling eyes. Her breath caught. This was real. He was here, with her. He wanted to be with her.

His eyes darkened at the look in her eyes. He half-unconsciously leaned in towards her, his eyes dropping to her mouth.

Montrose interrupted. "Oh, I've been meaning to tell you, Teresa."

Lisbon tore her gaze from Jane's with some difficulty. "Yes?"

"We had a little hiccup getting you in at the paper."

Lisbon frowned. "The paper?"

"Yeah, they insisted on an interview before they'll agree to extend you a formal offer."

Her heart sank. "An interview?" No way was she going to be able to bluff her way through an interview for a job in a field in which she had absolutely no experience. Jane squeezed her hand. It was disturbingly reassuring.

"Yes, it's at the end of next week. They want you to bring writing samples with you, too."

Her heart sank lower. "Writing samples?"

"Don't worry, we've worked it all out with the tech team. They're going to take copies of the samples we give them and manufacture an online presence for you so if anybody googles you, they'll be able to find evidence of your writing in various online publications."

Lisbon blinked. "Oh." For the first time, the amount of work that was being put in on her behalf by a team of mostly unseen agents from another agency struck her with full force. "Thank you."

"Do you have copies of the samples you're planning to give them?" Jane asked.

"Sure," Montrose said. She nudged Soren. "You've got the printouts in your files, don't you?"

Soren grunted in acknowledgment.

"Can I see them?" Jane asked.

Soren rummaged in a briefcase at his feet and handed a stack of papers back to him.

Jane riffled through the papers, scanning each page in turn. Lisbon looked away and returned her attention to the view out the window, knowing she'd get a headache if she tried to read anything in the back of a moving car.

"You'll need to rewrite these," Jane announced to her matter of factly.

Lisbon jerked her head back around in dismay. "What?"

He straightened the stack of papers, then rolled them up and stuck them in his jacket pocket. "Writers have a distinct voice. You need to make sure that anything you put your name to has a consistent voice. These are all over the place."

"Great," Lisbon muttered. Just when she thought she'd left her life of paperwork behind.

xxx

When they reached Salt Lake City, Montrose and Soren deposited them in another hotel, telling them they'd be back to check in on them in the morning.

Lisbon thanked them as Jane opened the door to the new hotel room. He gestured for her to precede him into the room. She walked in, his hand hovering at the small of her back.

She dumped her bag on the bed with a sigh, looking around the room without enthusiasm. She was accustomed to it due to the nature of the job, but Jane was right. She hated living out of hotel rooms.

Jane didn't even let her unpack. He took hold of her hand and tugged her back towards the door. "Come on," he said. "Let's go for a walk."

Lisbon looked down at his hand in hers again. Unwilling to relinquish the sensation of their clasped hands, she went.

Xxx

The next morning, they met Montrose and Soren for breakfast to discuss more logistical details. Jane got fidgety after half an hour and looked at Lisbon. "You don't need me for this, do you?" he said, sounding pained.

Poor Jane. This whole thing was a lot to take in. He'd abandoned his quest, acquired a pretend wife, and moved to a new state to escape threats to their lives all in a very short period of time. Plus going through the whole honest emotional confession and attending to her every need thing. She didn't blame him for needing some down time to process. "No," she said indulgently, thinking that he needed some alone time to go off and brood properly. "You go on, do what you need to do."

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"Okay," she echoed, flushing faintly. She had to admit (secretly, to herself), that she was quite enjoying this physically affectionate version of Jane.

He left. She spent the rest of the morning with Montrose and Soren, continuing to review various security protocols. After lunch, Soren excused himself to check in with the office, and Montrose offered to show her around the city. She drove her by the offices of the newspaper and by the school where Jane would be working as a kindergarten teacher. Lisbon's eyes lingered on the school as they drove past it. She couldn't wait to see Jane with a pack of five-year-olds in his charge.

Afterwards, they walked around downtown for a while, and then Montrose dropped Lisbon off at the hotel again. Lisbon entered the drab room with dread, wishing Jane would come back and brighten it up with his presence. Forcing this thought from her mind, she curled up with the sheaf of papers Soren had given Jane and started to review the packet of stories her fictional self had supposedly written.

Jane returned two hours later, beaming. She cast a suspicious eye over him. He certainly didn't look like he'd been brooding all day. She narrowed her eyes. Where the hell had he been, then?

"Get up," he said cheerfully. "We're checking out."

"We are?" Lisbon said, startled. "Is there something wrong with the room?" Dammit. The last thing she wanted to do was move rooms yet again.

Jane grabbed her still-packed bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. "I found us a house."

"You did?" Lisbon said in disbelief. "In one day?"

"Yep. A month to month lease. It's furnished and everything. You'll be happy to hear I negotiated a very reasonable rent."

"Did you hypnotize the owner?" Lisbon asked, still suspicious.

He rolled his eyes. "No hypnotism, I promise."

"You conned the person, didn't you?" she said shrewdly.

"_Lightly_ conned," Jane said. "Let's just say I did our new landlady a favor. She was happy to return the favor in kind. Win-win."

She shook her head. "I don't want to know."

"That's the spirit." He tilted his head towards the door. "Come on. Let's go."

Xxx

The cab dropped them off on a tree-lined street not far from downtown.

"This is it," Jane said proudly, helping her out of the cab. "What do you think?"

Lisbon stared as the cab drove away. "It has a white picket fence. Literally."

"Homey, isn't it? I'm thinking of planting some roses along the fence here," Jane said, gesturing.

She shook her head. "I can't believe you found a place with a white picket fence."

He unlatched the gate and placed a hand at the small of her back, their bags in his other hand. "Come on. I'll show you around."

After pointing out about seven different types of flowers in the front garden that Lisbon was never going to remember the names of, Jane led her to the front door. He unlocked it and ushered her inside. He set the bags on the floor just inside the door. "Here we are. Home, sweet home."

Lisbon looked around, overwhelmed. The place had gleaming hardwood floors, modest but tasteful furniture, and walls painted a warm, inviting cream color.

Jane led her through the house. "Living room," he pointed out unnecessarily, gesturing to a long couch opposite a fireplace, an overstuffed armchair next to it, and a loveseat tucked in the bay window. "Dining room." A dining table of rich cherry wood with matching chairs. "Kitchen." A cheerful space looking out over the back garden that looked like it would get a lot of natural light during the day.

He continued the tour. "There's three bedrooms."

"We're two people," Lisbon said. "We don't need three bedrooms."

He opened the door to the first one. "I thought we could turn this one into a home office for you." He opened the second. "Then there's the master bedroom, of course." He opened the third. "This one could be the nursery."

Lisbon nearly swallowed her tongue. "Nursery?" she squeaked.

"Well, of course," Jane said, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Patrick and Teresa Meyers have been married a while. Naturally they're thinking about starting a family."

"Naturally," she said faintly. Then the other shoe dropped. "Wait, you want us to share a bedroom?"

He looked caught out. "Well—we have been sharing a room the past few days," he said cautiously. "It's worked out okay so far, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, but—that was in a hotel room." Temporary.

"Well, I suppose I could sleep in one of the other rooms," Jane said dubiously. He inched closer to her. "It's just—well, I've grown rather fond of the cuddling."

Lisbon bit her lip and looked down. "Me, too," she admitted, not quite able to meet his gaze.

He took her hand. "So what's the problem?"

She sighed. "It's the same problem as before. It just seems awfully fast." A week ago, she would have laid even money that Jane could disappear again for another six months to forever at the slightest hint that it would bring him a chance of bringing down Red John. Now he was renting a picturesque home for the two of them and wanting to cuddle. The house, too, was overwhelming her with emotions she wasn't prepared for. It was exactly the kind of home she'd secretly longed for, but never thought she'd have. But this, ultimately, was temporary, too. She didn't want to get attached to this perfect house and to—to the cuddling, when she was eventually going to have to go back to her empty apartment in Sacramento and Jane either brooding in the CBI attic or off risking his life chasing Red John without telling her where he'd disappeared to. You couldn't miss what you'd never had, right?

"It's not like we don't know each other, Teresa," Jane said. "We've spent more time in each other's company than we have with anyone else for the past ten years."

"It's not just that," she said. "I've lived alone my entire adult life. I'm not sure if I know how to share my space with another person anymore."

"That's why three bedrooms is a good thing," Jane said. "You get sick of me, you can retreat to your office or—I don't know, banish me to the backyard."

"I don't know, Ja—Patrick," she said, still reluctant.

He tipped her chin up and brushed her lips with the lightest kiss imaginable. Lisbon's heart fluttered in her chest. "How about this?" he said, brushing his lips against hers once, twice more. "We start with a trial period. We share the master bedroom to start, and if it doesn't work out, I'll move into the nursery."

She pulled away and grimaced. "Do you have to call it the nursery?"

"Guest room. Whatever." He kissed her again, then hovered over her mouth, tantalizingly close. "Well? What do you say?"

She was having that brain scrambling problem again. He was doing this on purpose, she thought vaguely, distracted by how close his mouth was. He was deliberately working her up over those damn sweet kisses, then withholding the next set of kisses until she agreed to what he wanted. And…it was working. "You manipulative bastard," she breathed, her eyes on his mouth. "Fine. We'll share the bedroom." She wound her hands in his hair and brought his mouth down to hers, kissing him fiercely. She bit his lip. "On a trial basis."

"Very sensible," he groaned, abandoning his restraint and pressing her into the hallway wall, grinding his hips into hers.

Good Lord, please let him have already bought condoms while he was out house hunting, she prayed. Dammit, she should have thought of that while she was out with Montrose.

A knock on the door interrupted them, Lisbon's shirt half-unbuttoned and Jane's jacket and vest on the floor.

Lisbon turned her head, startled out of her lust-soaked haze. "Who the hell is that?"

"'s my fault," Jane mumbled into her neck. He touched his tongue to her pulse point. "I told them to come."

"Well, in that case, you should have to answer the door," Lisbon panted, breaking away with some difficulty. She ducked into the doorway of the nearest bedroom and hastily buttoned up her shirt.

"Fine," Jane grumbled. He went to the door and answered it. Lisbon finger-combed her Jane-tousled hair and poked her head out into the hallway to see what was going on.

A perky young man in a green polo shirt smiled brilliantly at him. "Hello, Mr. Meyers! Everything's all set. They're both out front, just like you asked."

Jane sighed. "Thanks, Greg."

The man handed him something and beamed. "No, thank _you_, Mr. Meyers." Lisbon deduced from this that Jane had tipped him a ridiculous amount to deliver whatever it was to the house.

Greg took his leave and Lisbon ventured all the way out into the hall. "What was that all about?" she asked curiously.

Jane held up two sets of car keys. "Wheels."

She stared. Again. "You rented a house and bought a car in one day?"

"Two cars," he corrected her. He tilted his head towards the front. "Want to see what I got you?"

Lisbon gave up. "Sure."

He led her back out to the front yard and gestured to two shiny new cars in the driveway. The first, a royal blue Prius. The second, a black BMW convertible.

She looked at him. "Seriously? You bought yourself a BMW?"

He shook his head. "The BMW is for you."

"It is?" she said, shocked.

He nodded. "Teresa Meyers is a bit of a daredevil, you see. Rebelling against the suburban dream. Patrick Meyers, on the other hand, wants to start a family. He wants the accoutrements that go along with that, but he also wants to live sustainably. So…Prius."

Lisbon shook her head. Jane's thought processes were still a mystery to her, even after all this time. Rebelling against the suburban dream, indeed.

He dangled the keys out in front of her and grinned. "What do you say? Want to take it out for a spin?"

She looked at the keychain with the BMW logo and snatched the keys out of his hand. "Hell, yeah."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This chapter is rated T for sexual situations.

xxx

Lisbon spent the weekend re-writing the samples Montrose and Soren had given her. Her interview at the paper was on Friday, so she had to finish by Wednesday at the latest. Jane had managed to acquire a laptop for her in between all house hunting and purchasing of expensive cars, so on Saturday, she hunkered down and started writing.

Jane had been right. The pieces were all over the place. At first she despaired of wrestling all of them into a single coherent voice, but after a couple of hours, she settled into a rhythm and started to make significant progress.

"Good Lord, woman. You're the only person on the planet who could mire herself in paperwork while running for her life," Jane commented in exasperation when he returned from the grocery store. He found her curled up in an armchair in the living room, surrounded by a half-circle of printouts she'd spread out on the floor around her so they would all be in easy reach.

She raised her middle finger to him in response and went back to her writing.

Jane busied himself puttering around the house, cleaning, cooking, and arranging their scant belongings in the master bedroom. Lisbon, going into the bedroom in search of a sweater a couple of hours later, felt a queer fluttering sensation in her stomach when she saw their clothes hanging next to each other in the closet. She grabbed the first thing she could find and exited the room as quickly as possible, chiding herself for getting emotional over a closet.

Jane's presence in the kitchen, fixing her lunch and then baking her cookies, didn't help. He forced her out of the living room to eat their meal together at the table 'like civilized people.' She eyed him over her sandwich and salad and remarked, "I didn't know you were serious about that whole 'husband of the year' thing."

Jane took a cookie from the pile he'd set out on a plate in the middle of the table. "What do you mean?"

She gestured around them. "First you find the perfect house, then you buy me a BMW, and now you're cooking and cleaning?"

"All in a day's work," he shrugged. "Are you saying that's all I have to do to stay in the running?"

"Well," she said, a teasing smile curving her lips upwards. "It's a start."

Xxx

After lunch, Lisbon went back to her writing. Jane went out for a while again, exploring. When he got back, he stretched out on the couch with a book about early childhood development.

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "Early childhood development?"

He tapped the cover of the book. "First rule of any con, Teresa. Prepare as much as possible to properly inhabit the role." He nodded at the pile of papers spread out around her. "You seem to have an instinctive grasp of the concept."

She threw a wadded up sheet of discarded notes at him. "Hush."

He smoothed out the sheet of paper and, still lying down, folded it into an origami swan. Then he sat up and leaned forward so he could place it gently on the arm of the armchair where she was curled up with her writing.

Lisbon bit her lip, a goofy smile threatening to take over her face. "For me?"

Jane settled back down into a reclining position, his eyes on her. "Yep."

She rubbed her thumb over the ridged surface of the gold ring on her left hand. She let the smile take over the rest of her face. "Thanks."

She put the swan in pride of place on the mantelpiece where it could watch over them as they worked. She snuck a few glances at Jane, looking beautiful in his familiar position stretched out on a couch. But this time, he was on a couch in a home. Their home. Sort of. She glanced at the origami swan. Then she snuck another look at him and considered crossing the Turkish rug to jump him on the couch. Then she shook her head to herself and went back to writing.

"Do you want to go out to dinner?" Jane suggested as the room started to darken with the fading sunlight a while later.

Lisbon shook her head without raising it from her laptop. "I've got too much to do. It's going to be tight, getting this done by Wednesday."

Jane sat up. "Very well. I'll start on dinner, then."

"Hang on." She pushed the laptop towards him. "Can you review these first few pieces for me?"

"Sure." Jane took the laptop.

Lisbon watched his eyes scan down the page and fidgeted.

He read through them with painstaking detail, a small smile on his face. A couple times his eyes lit up with interest at particular sections.

Lisbon watched him, wired with tension. "Well?"

"I like them," Jane said. "Much punchier than the originals. Very professional, but a bit of your humor bleeds through, makes them very…human."

"Really?" Lisbon said anxiously. "You're not just saying that?"

"No. These are really good." He looked over at her with admiration. "You're a good writer."

Lisbon hid her relief. "I guess my skills have been honed by all the complaint paperwork I've had to fill out about you over the years," she said dryly.

He chuckled. "Glad to have been of service." He got up and handed her the laptop. He stopped and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "What do you want for dinner? Lemon chicken with pasta okay?"

"Sounds great," Lisbon said, returning her attention to her writing with a frown. That last section on the third article could really be tightened up further.

Jane sighed. "I've created a monster."

Xxx

Jane let her keep writing for a couple hours after dinner. Then it was his turn to get fidgety. He tossed his book to the side and sat up. "Time for a break," he announced.

"'kay," Lisbon said distractedly, midway through her fifth article. "You going out again?"

"Not for me," Jane said, exasperated. "For you." He paused. "Well, for both of us, really. Come here."

"What for?" Lisbon said, still distracted.

"For the next phase of our romantic journey," he informed her.

She looked up at that, eyebrows raised. "Meaning?"

He grinned at her. "We should make out on the couch."

She rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "I'm trying to finish this."

"Hit save," he instructed her.

She did so automatically. "What—"

He got up and snapped the laptop closed, then took it out of her hands and set it on the little table to the right of her chair.

"Ja—Patrick," she protested. "I was working on that."

"You've been at it for hours," he said dismissively. He took her hands in his and pulled her over to the couch. "You need to let your mind relax." He pulled her down into his lap and waggled his eyebrows. "I know just the thing."

"Uh-huh," she said, unimpressed. But then she was distracted by Jane pulling her head down for a kiss.

His mouth moved against hers and she wound her arms around his neck to bring him closer. God_,_ he was good at that.

One hand snaked beneath her t-shirt and splayed wide on her lower back, holding her close; he buried the other in her hair, cradling her head tenderly as he deepened the kiss. His hand was fever hot against her back.

Things escalated quickly. She squirmed a little on his lap, desperate for more contact, and he gasped out, "_Teresa_" in this ragged, breathless way. The next thing she knew she had him pinned down on the couch, stretched out long and hard beneath her while she attacked his mouth.

He wasn't wearing a suit, for once. He'd traded in his vest and trousers for jeans and a t-shirt, a fact she'd noticed with idle appreciation earlier in the day. She'd cast several admiring looks at him over the course of lunch and dinner, and a few times in between, when she was supposed to be focused on her writing. The man could wear a t-shirt.

Now, however, as her fingers ran down the soft fabric covering his chest, all she could think was, _Thank God. _This was going to be so much easier to get off than one of those damn vests. Her fingers found the hem and tugged upwards while she delved deeper into his mouth with her tongue. She released his mouth reluctantly to wrestle the shirt over his head, then tossed it aside and gazed down at the bounty before her. She'd never seen so much of Jane's skin before.

She ran her hands up and down his chest and stomach in wonder. The muscles of his stomach clenched at her touch. She heard his breathing change. She lowered her head and licked his chest, savoring the taste of him.

"_Jesus,_" he hissed, every muscle he had tightening beneath her. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, his mouth softly parted. He shifted against her, sliding his hands down to her ass, pulling her into solid contact with his erection.

Lisbon threw her own head back, biting her lip at the sensation of having him hard against her. God, _yes_.

She reached for the buckle of his belt, frantically fumbling with the clasp in her haste.

Jane sat up, gasping like he'd just run a marathon. "Wait." He put his hand over hers, stilling them. "Slow down."

"_Jane,_" she said, aggravated. She shifted on his lap again and he groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder.

"I—I thought we agreed," he said, still panting for breath. "To take things slow."

"No. _You_ agreed," she said, sliding off his lap in annoyance. "I don't get a say in the matter, apparently."

"Of course you have a say," he protested, reaching for her.

She moved to the far end of the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, scowling. "To have and to hold, yeah right," she grumbled. "Some marriage this is turning out to be."

Jane winced. "Come now, don't be like that."

"This is so like you," she accused. "You always have to control everything."

He shook his head. "I told you before, this isn't about control."

Lisbon set her jaw. "Could've fooled me."

Jane ignored this. "It's about emotional intimacy."

"Ha!" Lisbon scoffed. "Says the man who's spent the last decade keeping everyone he knows at arm's length."

He winced again but continued doggedly ahead. "I'm trying to delay crossing the Rubicon because I'm afraid you'll panic and go on emotional lockdown afterwards."

This was beyond infuriating. Like _she _was the one with emotional issues. "Not everything is a goddamn chess game, Jane. Why do you have to plot every move ten steps ahead?" Okay, she _did_ have emotional issues, but she was hardly the only one. Weren't they supposed to dive in and figure out stuff like that together?

She ignored the tiny voice in her head that acknowledged that Jane might have had a point about the emotional lockdown thing.

Jane scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "I can't help it. I'm hardwired to think that way. And this isn't just—these are high stakes we're talking about." He sighed. "The highest."

She narrowed her eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I can't afford to make a mistake," he said, turning his head to look at her in that way she was starting to think of as familiar, even if she hadn't exactly gotten accustomed to it. That soul inside out look. She wasn't sure she'd ever be accustomed to it. "I can't afford to lose you."

"You're so afraid of losing things that you never _do_ anything," Lisbon said, frustrated, thinking of that aborted 'Love you' and how devastating it had been when he'd taken it back the next day.

"Only the important things," Jane said quietly.

Lisbon ignored the stab of guilt she felt when she thought of everything Jane had lost in his life. "It's still an excuse."

"It's not just about that, Teresa," he said. "Making love to you is important to me. I don't want you to fall into your default mode and just focus on the physical release."

She recoiled, stung. "Wow, you really think a lot of me. Now I'm just using you for sex, is that it?"

"No," he said with exaggerated patience. "I'm just saying I want you to be emotionally present."

She jumped up from the couch, angry again. "And you're the best judge of my emotions, are you? Screw you, Jane." She picked up his discarded t-shirt and flung it at him. "You can sleep on the couch tonight. Maybe you can spend the night analyzing my emotions and tell me all about them tomorrow morning over breakfast. That way, I won't even need to bother feeling them myself. I'll just wait for you to let me know what I'm thinking, instead."

She stalked into the bedroom and slammed the door without another word.

Jane sighed heavily and put his shirt back on, wondering how he'd gotten himself into this mess. Wishing he was on the other side of the bedroom door, with Lisbon's warmth beside him.

For the first time in living memory, he stretched out on the couch most unwillingly.

xxxx

It took Lisbon ages to fall asleep, stewing over her fight with Jane. When she finally did fall asleep, she slept restlessly. Nightmares chased each other through her consciousness. Red John, Scalzi, then Red John again. Then Jane, gone – gone, gone, gone, and no matter what she did, she couldn't find him. Finally, Lorelei came and told her she knew where he was, but she wouldn't tell unless she let Lorelei stab her in the heart. She offered to let Lisbon choose the knife.

She woke in the middle of the night, reaching for Jane. Panic sliced through her when he wasn't there. Oh, God—what if Scalzi or Red John had found him and taken him away?

No, she reminded herself. You're being irrational. He's out on the couch where you left him.

Which is what he's afraid of, that annoying voice inside her piped up. You distancing yourself from him. Retreating. Still didn't make it any less infuriating that he could get her so hot she couldn't see straight in five seconds or less, then calmly and coolly refuse to have sex with her. Of course, she thought, he hadn't looked so cool half naked beneath her, her name on his lips. She stared at the ceiling and tried to think of things from Jane's perspective.

Okay. She was Jane. She annoyed the crap out of people all day for fun. And then he wanted to make out, but refused to have sex with a woman who clearly wanted him. Probably because she wasn't devious and manipulative enough for him, she thought bitterly, thinking of Lorelei and Erica Flynn.

No. Jane wouldn't see it that way. Okay. She was Jane. She walked around every day fearing that people she loved would be targeted by a serial killer. Convinced that only his cleverness and ability to outfox the most notorious killer in the history of the state stood between his friends and death. So used to scanning for threats that cloaking his every move in misdirection had grown as natural to him as breathing. Concealing his true motives in half-truths, omissions, and blatant falsehoods was a habit so ingrained she wondered if he was even fully conscious of it. Jesus. No wonder he couldn't just say things straight out. He had to sidle up to everything sideways, to analyze and assess whether it was safe to proceed.

_Good luck, Teresa. Love you._

He was making an effort, she realized. He'd told her about June eighth, 2007. Told her he was trying to be more honest with her. And he'd tried to explain where he was coming from when he'd stopped her on the couch. She was still mad about that, but he was being truthful with her about his fears. She couldn't begrudge him his own emotional reactions to this new and strange situation they'd found themselves in. Even if it was all his fault, with his stupid romantic walks in botanic gardens and origami swans and cooking for her and kissing so damn well he could practically send her up in flames with the barest brush of his lips. Well, the not having sex part was his fault. She supposed she had to own the WITSEC thing.

She got up and padded out to the living room, disoriented by the strange shadows in the unfamiliar hall. "Patrick?" she called softly.

Jane sat up so swiftly it was obvious he hadn't been asleep. "What's wrong?" he said, his voice anxious. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She ventured into the living room and found her way around to the front of the couch. She sat down on the edge of the cushion nearest him, close enough for their hips to touch. She found his hand in the dark. "Come to bed," she said quietly.

He twined his fingers through hers. "You're not mad anymore?"

"No, I'm still mad," she said, getting up off the couch and pulling him with her. "But I still want you next to me."

He hung on to her hand with a death grip and followed her into the bedroom. "I can live with that."

They crawled into bed next to each other. Lisbon, sensing his hesitation, curled into his side, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder. Jane let out a breath of relief and put his arm around her.

"I'm sorry about before," she murmured.

He kissed her on the forehead. "I thought I was supposed to be the one apologizing."

"Yeah, well, I can't force you to have sex with me if you don't want to," Lisbon grumbled.

"Want has nothing to do with it," he said, exasperated. "In fact, I'm concerned that when we finally do make love, I'm never going to be able to keep my hands off you again. I've been hanging onto my self-control by a thread, these last few days."

"That's kind of my point, though," Lisbon said. "You're still hanging onto that control while I feel like I've already lost mine. It feels like jumping off a cliff. I'm halfway down already and then I find out you're still standing on solid ground, calling down to me that you're not ready to jump yet. You say you want this to be about emotional intimacy, but to me, it just feels like you're holding another part of yourself back from me."

He frowned. "I never wanted you to feel like that. I'm just—I'm scared."

She tilted her face up to look at him. "Scared of what?"

He kept his eyes determinedly on the ceiling. "I'm scared of looking into your eyes and seeing that this doesn't mean as much to you as it does to me."

Lisbon didn't answer right away, too stunned to react. God, what must it be like to never have the shield of untruth to protect you from the brutal reality of what was in someone else's heart? To see into people's minds so clearly there was no comfortable shelter of uncertainty? Finally she managed to say, "How can you think that? Don't you—don't you already know?" How could he not know how she felt about him?

"The only thing I know," he said, his voice hoarse. "Is that you are the one thing on this planet I can't live without. I love you, Teresa. I'm blind with it."

No retreating. She buried her face in his chest. "I love you, too," she said into his armpit.

He stroked her hair. "Terrifying, isn't it?"

She drew a shaky breath. "Yeah."

He kissed her temple. "Do you think you can be patient with me?"

She bit her lip. "I'll try. But we may have to have some ground rules."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. Like you can't touch me below the shoulders until you're ready to, uh—"

"Go all the way?" he suggested. "Seal the deal? Dance the forbidden polka?"

"Yeah," she said, face flaming.

"No touching below the shoulders?" Jane said, dismayed. "That's awfully extreme, don't you think?"

She shrugged helplessly against him. "I can't help it. I'll go crazy if you keep working me up like today and then leave me hanging."

"What about handholding?" Jane demanded. "That's below the shoulders. Is that off limits?"

Lisbon considered. "Handholding is acceptable. No neck kissing, though."

"No neck kissing?" Jane sounded like she'd threatened to cut off his tea supply. "But that's above the shoulders!"

"No neck kissing," Lisbon said firmly. He was entirely too good at finding sensitive spots there.

"What about cuddling?" Jane asked, his arm tightening around her as though he were afraid she was about to enforce a minimum distance between them.

"Cuddling is okay," she allowed. "As long as there are no wandering hands."

Jane relaxed. "Okay." He paused. "What about foot massages?"

She wrinkled her nose. "You want to massage my feet?"

"It could reduce your stress levels."

Lisbon thought about Jane focusing his considerable powers of perception on the task of finding just the right muscles and pressure points to explore. "No foot massages," she decided. Too risky.

"Regular massages?" he said hopefully.

"Absolutely not," she said with certainty.

"But I can still play with your hair, right?" he said anxiously.

"That's fine," she said magnanimously.

He sighed. "I suppose I should be grateful you're not cutting me off from kissing all together."

Like she had that kind of self-control. She'd only been kissing Jane a few days and she was already thoroughly addicted. "Damn right," she agreed. She patted his chest. "Now go to sleep. We can figure out the rest in the morning."

He pressed another kiss to her hair. "Yes, dear."

She closed her eyes and snuggled closer.


	12. Chapter 12

They woke up intertwined again.

Lisbon opened her eyes to find Jane gazing at her with soft light in his eyes. "G'morning," he murmured, hugging her close. Lisbon had never been a hugger, before. Now she couldn't get enough of them. Of him. He kissed her forehead, her nose…each eyelid. Then kissed her sweetly on the mouth.

"Good morning," Lisbon said, still marveling at this unexpectedly affectionate side of Jane. She kissed him back.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked, nibbling her earlobe.

"I—" she arched into him. "Whatever you want."

He wound his fingers through her hair and tilted her head to the side, dropping soft kisses along the column of her neck.

"Patrick," she groaned. She pulled back. "No neck kissing, remember?"

"Not even first thing in the morning?" he said pathetically.

She shook her head and kissed him swiftly before rolling out of bed. "I'm going for a run," she announced. She needed to burn off some of this…energy.

"Okay." Jane flopped back onto the pillows, looking unfairly beautiful. He folded his hands behind his head. "What do you want to do the rest of the day?"

Lisbon tore her eyes from the sight of Jane stretched out on the bed and headed to the closet to grab her gym clothes. "I've got to finish working on those articles," she reminded him. "Based on what I've got so far, it's going to take up pretty much every minute between now and the end of the day on Wednesday to get it all done."

Jane made a face. "And here I was so hoping we were leaving your workaholic ways behind in Sacramento."

She shrugged. "I'd rather have something to do. I'd go crazy if all I had to do was sit around all week waiting for that interview."

"Of course you wouldn't," Jane said. He sounded personally affronted. "You don't think I could come up with suitable ways to entertain you?"

She bit back the retort that came to mind, seeing him there in the bed in all his golden perfection. "Save it for the weekends."

He shot her a grin, clearly reading her mind. "I'll do that."

Xxx

When she got back from her run—a long one (there had been a lot of energy to burn off)—Jane was in the kitchen, making pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream.

"That smells good," she commented, emerging from the bathroom freshly showered.

Jane kissed her hair. He put his hands on her hips, stilling her, and inhaled deeply. "You, on the other hand, smell positively delectable, my dear."

Lisbon flushed. "Sweet talker."

She stole a strawberry, an offense Jane insisted she pay for with a kiss. She obliged him, then tried to go around him to get her pancakes, but he stopped her with another kiss. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply, then ran his fingers through her hair. Before she knew it, she was pressed up against the kitchen counter, his body pressed against hers, his tongue tracing a line down to her pulse point.

"Patrick," she gasped, clutching at his biceps. "Neck."

He pulled back, his eyes glassy with lust. "Right," he said, dazed. He bent his head again, this time attacking her earlobe. He caught it between his teeth and flicked it with his tongue.

Lisbon's eyes rolled back in her head. "_Oh, my God._" She pulled away again, her eyes wild. "New rule," she managed. "No ears."

"No ears?" Jane looked comically disappointed. "Okay, fine. At least I still have your hair," he said, moving towards her again.

Lisbon backed away so hastily she almost tripped over the leg of one of the kitchen stools. "Stay right there."

He stopped, hitting her with wounded puppy eyes. "What'd I do?"

"Nothing," she panted, trying to get her breath back. "I just—need a time out."

He inched forward. "Are you sure we can't renegotiate on the neck kissing, Teresa?" he wheedled. "It's right there, tempting me all the time."

"Definitely not," she said, backing away again.

Jane scowled. "I don't like these rules."

Lisbon got her breath back at last. "You amaze me," she said dryly. "You're normally such a stickler for rules."

"I'm serious. This is torture."

"You went for years barely touching me at all," Lisbon pointed out. "This should be nothing to you."

He shook his head. "I've always known if I had a taste, I would never be able to get enough. Why do you think I—" he faltered, grasping for the right words.

"Blew hot and cold for ten years?" Lisbon suggested.

"Tried to maintain a professional distance," he said with dignity.

Lisbon snorted at that. "You never maintained a professional anything in your whole life, Jane."

"Patrick," he corrected her sternly.

"Patrick," she repeated obediently.

His eyes darkened and he crossed to her in two great strides, burying his hands in her hair and bending her backwards over the counter again. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers while they both caught their breath. "I need access to the neck, Teresa," he said seriously.

She toyed with the belt loops on his jeans. "You know you can end this torture for both of us at any time, right?"

He looked at her with the soul inside out look, the moment stretching out with heat. "Thursday," he said finally.

Lisbon's breath caught in her throat. "Thursday?"

"Thursday," he repeated. "You have to get all the articles to the tech team by Wednesday, and your interview is on Friday."

She shook her head. "I need to prepare for the interview on Thursday."

"Meh, after all that writing, you'll be more than prepared. A distraction the day before will be the best thing for you."

"And you want to be the one to distract me?" she double checked.

His eyes narrowed. "I'd like to see someone else try to distract you," he said indignantly. "It would be his last conscious action before spending the rest of his life as a duck."

Remembering Sanchez's "Quack, quack," Lisbon was seized by a fit of giggles. "Did you actually threaten Sanchez with that?" she demanded through her laughter.

"What? No," Jane said, confused. He scowled. "Why are you thinking about Sanchez?"

She explained about the conversation she'd had with Sanchez in the car. "Guess Briggs and Sanchez really have you pegged, huh?" she said, grinning.

"Yes, well," Jane said, sounding distinctly disgruntled. "I'm glad Sanchez had the sense to withdraw from the field before I was forced into any drastic measures."

"You really were jealous of him, weren't you?" Lisbon said in wonder.

His expression darkened. "Were you jealous of Lorelei?"

Her smile faded. All that heat and laughter—gone, doused in one breath. One name. She slipped out of his arms and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly cold. _That cold cavity in her chest._ She pressed a hand to her sternum as though she could ward off the chill that had only ever spread from the inside out.

Jealous. Jealousy was too simple a word, she thought. Inadequate. It didn't explain anything about the cold cavity, or the fear, or the bleak conviction that he was going to get himself killed by Red John because he was too goddamn stubborn to ask her for help. In fact, she realized, most of that had very little to do with Lorelei at all.

Jane looked like he regretted saying the name. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean—" He winced like he had a toothache.

She brushed it off. "It's fine," she said, her voice tight and brittle.

He sighed. "No, it's not."

She looked away. "Look, it's not like—" she huffed out an impatient breath. "We weren't together, when you left for Vegas," she said. "I never expected you to—to…" she trailed off. 'Wait for me' was such a trite term, but she couldn't think of another way to put it. She grimaced. "There were never any words between us. You didn't owe me anything."

Although the truth would have been nice. Being let in on his stupid plan would have been nice. Being spared six months of worry and the experience of that cold cavity in her chest would have been—

"There were words," Jane said quietly.

Her brow furrowed. "What-?"

He met her gaze. "I promised I would be there for you. No matter what." He let out a shaky breath. "And I wasn't. For six months, I wasn't there."

Six months. Letting her pour her worry, her love—her mind stumbled over the word, still not used to acknowledging the truth of it, even to herself—into a thousand futile messages destined to be ignored—rejected—like they had no worth. Which they hadn't, she thought bitterly, because they had no power to advance his plot against Red John. The bond between them, which she treasured above almost anything else in her whole life, was always secondary to him.

And then when he returned, acting like it was nothing. Like her cooperation, after six months of absence and neglect, was a foregone conclusion. The bastard had factored in her helping him since the very beginning of his whole stupid, ill-advised con.

"And there may not have been any declarations between us," Jane continued. "But there were…feelings. Friendship. Trust. And, well…" he gestured helplessly.

"Occasional flirting?" she suggested.

He smiled wryly. "I was gonna go with hopeless longing, but sure, that works too."

Six months. But he'd walked away from it all, she reminded herself. He'd left Lorelei rotting in jail, turned his back on his decade long quest to hunt Red John, to go with her to a new city, under a new name.

She let out a long breath. "You're here now."

"Yes," he said, looking at her with the soul inside out look. "I'm here now."

"And that means—" she choked on the word: everything. "That means a lot to me," she finished lamely. She took another deep breath. "More than you know."

He raked a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking a lot about the con, since I came back."

"And?" Lisbon said cautiously, not entirely certain she wanted to hear this.

"I don't know that I would call it a mistake, exactly—"

"I would," Lisbon muttered.

"But as much as it pains me, I have to acknowledge that it was a failure," he said, setting his jaw.

Lisbon gaped at him. Jane didn't admit to being wrong. Ever.

"It was a failure," he repeated. "It didn't get me Red John. I didn't get anything useful out of Lorelei. Six months, and not a single useful lead."

"Amazing, how drinking yourself into a stupor every night failed to produce useful information on the identity of a serial killer," Lisbon said sarcastically.

He ignored this. "It was a calculated risk, one I thought was worth taking. I know you hate what I did, but can you understand—even a little bit—how I thought all of it would have been worth it if I could have just—" he exhaled again. "If I could have ended it, finally? If I could have woken up, and not had my first thought be fear of him going after the few people on this planet that I still care about?"

"You mean kill him," Lisbon said flatly. "Don't you get that if you got your way, you'd have been in jail? That's not exactly a happily ever after scenario, Ja—Patrick."

"Maybe," Jane said. "Or maybe I would have gone on the run. But either outcome would have been okay with me, if I didn't have that fear hanging over me."

Now she was angry all over again. "How can you not see how selfish that is?" she demanded. "How can you tell me you want to be with me, and then go and say something like that? You're fine with the idea of going to jail? That's not being with me, Patrick! That's condemning me to purgatory, right here on earth."

He looked down. "But you'd be safe," he said, his voice so quiet she could barely hear him.

"God, you still don't have the faintest clue how partnership is supposed to work, do you? You don't just—make all the decisions yourself and justify it by telling yourself it's keeping me and the team safe." She gestured between the two of them. "Do you want this to be real or not?"

"I do," he said, looking at her. "You know I do."

She drew a deep breath. "Okay, then. I know in the past we basically agreed to disagree on what would happen when we catch Red John—"

"You mean, you threatening to arrest me if I manage to kill him?" Jane offered.

"Yes. Exactly that," she said, glaring at him. "But it's different now. I never made any demands of you before, Patrick, because I didn't have that right. I didn't have that place in your life. But now—I will not go willingly into a future that ends with you dead, or in jail. Or you spending the rest of your life running from the law, for that matter. So you have to make a choice. Either you want this to be real, or you want to kill Red John at any cost. You can't have both."

He looked at her sadly. "An ultimatum, Teresa?" He looked at the ceiling, again looking like he had a toothache. "How did we go from talking about Lorelei to this?"

It seemed a natural progression to her. He was supposed to be so goddamn smart. How could this not be obvious to him? She summoned patience. "Look, if you'd started dating someone…normal. A—a—" her brain faltered, trying to think of an example of normal that could capture Jane's interest. "I don't know, a famous California heiress or a professor of philosophy or something…yes, I would have been jealous." She struggled getting the words out, begrudging the admission after all that had been said. She forged ahead. "But I would have tried to be happy for you, if she was making you happy. But with Lorelei—" Again, she struggled to get the words out. "You say you don't have feelings for her. But you gave her a part of yourself. A part of yourself you held back from any other human being for over ten years. That means something, Patrick, whether you want to admit it or not."

Jane sighed. "I didn't give her a part of myself. I was using her to get to Red John. That's it."

Lisbon recoiled.

Jane tracked her reaction. "That disgusts you," he said slowly. "That I would use sex to advance my pursuit of Red John."

"She's a human being, Patrick," Lisbon said quietly. "Look, I don't like her—I don't think it's a secret that she grates on my every nerve. I'm not saying she's a victim—she did try to cut off your finger with a pair of pruning shears. But did you ever stop to wonder why she fell under Red John's spell in the first place? That maybe something in her life left her with an empty place inside her that he promised he could fill? That letting him whore her out to you as part of this twisted game between the two of you is—" she stopped, unable to think of a word that conveyed how awful she found the prospect of Jane and Red John moving this obviously damaged woman back and forth between them like a pawn.

He looked down, telegraphing shame.

She sighed. "Look, you want me to admit it? Fine. I am jealous. She's beautiful, you two seem to have a strange rapport—"

"There's no rapport," he began. "She's a worthy adversary, that's all—"

"I'd rather just be jealous," she finished. "I'd rather think she intrigued you with her—I don't know. Sultry ways, or something."

Jane made a tutting sound and seemed on the verge of protest again, but she overrode him. "The point is, my feelings about Lorelei are not really about Lorelei. They're about what she represents. You leaving. You not letting me in on the plan. You, obsessing about Red John and letting me go six months without sleeping because you couldn't be bothered to pick up the goddamned phone."

He winced. "It was never about not being bothered, Teresa. It was about concealing my attachment to you so Red John would buy the con."

Lisbon threw up her hands. "Nice to know I've been talking to a brick wall, here." She walked into the living room.

"Where are you going?" Jane followed her into the living room, alarmed.

She grabbed her laptop and stuffed it into its case. "I'm going to go work."

He hovered at her elbow, watching her shove her papers into the case along with the laptop. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know. The library. A coffee shop." She slung the laptop bag over her shoulder. "I need to get out of the house for a bit."

"When will you be back?" he asked anxiously.

"Later," she said shortly. She grabbed the house keys and headed to the front door.

Jane followed her to the door. He summoned half a smile that was meant to mask the pain in his eyes. "So, I was right, wasn't I?"

She shot him a look, wary. "Right about what?"

He gestured between them. "This time together is really helping us sort through some of our issues." He ducked his head to look at her more closely. "Isn't it?"

She shook her head. "Sure, Jane."

She left him alone with the stack of strawberry pancakes rapidly cooling on the counter.


	13. Chapter 13

She found a coffee shop and ordered the biggest coffee they had, then settled down at a corner table with her laptop and a bear claw the size of her head.

She opened her laptop, tore off a big piece of the bear claw, and determinedly put Jane out of her mind.

She managed to get through two more articles with only a few lapses in concentration.

Jane found her just after lunch.

He appeared in the coffee shop doorway, his golden hair lit from behind. His eyes found her right away. Their gazes locked and he crossed to her.

"Hey." He gestured to the seat next to her. "May I?"

She gestured for him to sit.

He nodded at the laptop. "How's the writing going?"

"Good," she said neutrally. "Making progress." Then admitted, "I've been a little distracted."

"Me, too," he said. "I tried to call you. You left your phone at the house."

"How'd you know where to find me?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged. "You left the car in the driveway. You don't know the bus routes yet, so you had to be within walking distance. You had the laptop and probably wouldn't want to lug it halfway across town. I figured you would go somewhere you'd passed on your run earlier because you wouldn't have needed directions to get there. I stopped at the first three coffee shops nearest to our house on each of the likeliest routes you might have taken on your run this morning."

She took a sip of her third coffee of the day. "Impressive."

Jane fidgeted and looked around the coffee shop. "Can we take a walk?"

She nodded. She finished her coffee and gathered her things. Jane took her empty cardboard cup and disposed of it for her, then wordlessly slid the laptop bag out of her hand and gestured for her to precede him out the door.

They walked several minutes in silence before Jane spoke. "I need you to understand," he said, his voice low and hoarse, "that I can't promise not to do everything in my power to protect you."

"Does that include lying to me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. "Not sharing information with me?"

He grimaced. "I suppose you would consider that a deal breaker."

"I would," she said firmly.

"What if I promised to tell you the truth seventy-five percent of the time?" he suggested.

"Seventy-five percent is an improvement?" Lisbon said, incredulous. "How much do you lie to me now?"

"I don't think there's any good way to answer that," Jane mused. "How about eighty percent?"

She shook her head. "Your baseline is already unacceptably low."

"Eighty-five percent, and I throw in homemade chocolate chip pancakes twice a month," he tried.

Lisbon exhaled through her nostrils in a vain attempt to summon calm. "Look, I don't care about your regular lying. I mean, on normal cases and stuff. Well—yes, I do care. I hate it. But I can live with it, if you truly are unconstitutionally capable of behaving like a normal human being instead of a manipulative, lying bastard. What I really care about is the Red John stuff."

Jane hm-ed. "Which Red John stuff, specifically?"

"_All_ of it," she said, exasperated. "White lies, lies for my own good, lies of omission, _regular_ omission."

He scuffed his foot on the ground. "The lies for your own good—that might be a sticking point. I'm not sure I can promise to stop that."

"Patrick," Lisbon said with forced patience. "I can't force you to stop lying to me. You have to decide that for yourself. You want to keep lying to me, cutting me out of things, fine. We'll go back to the status quo." Her heart sank into the bottom of her stomach, thinking of never touching him again.

He looked at her. "You really think we can do that?" he said skeptically. "After the past few days?"

"I don't know," she admitted. She imagined her future, staring at him bleakly from across the vast expanse of her desk, knowing that he didn't love her enough to let her all the way in. "But I'm willing to try, if you are. What's the alternative? You running off again? That would make it easier for you to get your revenge, I suppose. But no matter what happens between us, I would still hate it if you just—" she choked on the words. "If you weren't in my life at all. I would hate that."

"I don't want that either," Jane said soberly. "I think I could bear almost anything, if I knew you were safe and didn't hate me."

She felt a pang in her chest at his words. Sometimes she forgot how few people in his life had truly provided Jane with anything resembling real love. How little he expected of the people around him. Impulsively, she reached out and curled her fingers around his arm, tucking her head in the crook of his shoulder as they walked. "I could never hate you," she whispered. "I would try. But I would never be able to manage it."

He glanced down at her dark head on his shoulder. "No?"

She lifted her head and met his eyes. "No. I think I could stay pissed off at you indefinitely. Possibly years on end. But I could never hate you."

He brushed his lips across her hair. "Good to know."

"Okay, so revenge aside, why is this so hard for you? The whole honesty thing, I mean. Specifically relating to Red John."

He sighed. "Fear, I suppose. Fear that if you know too much, he'll target you."

"You told me you thought he was already targeting me," Lisbon pointed out.

"Old habits die hard, I suppose," Jane said reluctantly.

"So in that case, doesn't telling me more just make me better prepared?"

"Not necessarily," Jane said. "You're a terrible liar. What if I told you something that meant you had to lie to other people around you? You'd raise suspicion. That would put you at greater risk, not less."

Lisbon let go of his arm and scowled. "I can lie when I need to."

He rolled his eyes. "Right."

"I can keep secrets," she protested. "I have secrets from you. Secrets you can't imagine."

"Uh-huh," Jane said, unimpressed. "How about I tell you three things you think are secret from me that I actually know?"

"Sure. Go ahead," she said, confident he was full of crap.

He stopped and faced her. "One: you have a Victoria's Secret credit card. A fact I find very intriguing, by the way. Once we get back to Sacramento and get your things out of storage, I'd be very interested in seeing what you spent those seventy-six dollars on last month."

Her mouth fell open. "Wha-? That bill comes to my house, Jane! How the hell do you know about that?"

"Two," he continued. "The last time you went on a date, you secretly wanted me to think you had slept with the guy, but you in fact did not."

The occasion he was referring to had been so damn long ago Lisbon couldn't remember the details, but it sounded depressingly accurate. She looked away.

"I was still jealous, though," Jane added. "So, mission accomplished."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "You never get jealous of guys I've dated." She frowned. "Until Sanchez, I guess. Who I never actually dated."

It was his turn to scowl. "You were thinking about it, though."

"But why get jealous of him and not anybody I actually went out with?" she asked, turning this over in her mind.

Jane rolled his eyes again. "I was always jealous. You should have heard the plot I came up with against Mashburn after your little dalliance with him."

Lisbon stared at him. "You were the one who kept pushing me to indulge in empty glamour!"

"Yes," he agreed. "That doesn't mean I was happy about it when you took my advice."

She searched his face. "You were really jealous of Mashburn?"

"And every other man you ever looked at twice," Jane confirmed.

"Huh," she said, suddenly feeling much better about Lorelei. She started walking again. "I might like to hear about your other plots sometime."

He fell in step beside her. "That could be arranged."

She glanced at him. "So what's the third secret?"

"That blue blanket on your couch at work? You told me you bought it because you thought white was an impractical color for a couch and the blanket would help protect it from dirt, but really you bought it for me, so I wouldn't be cold when I slept at the office."

Her face flamed. "Why are all these secrets actually about you?"

"To feed my vanity, of course," Jane said promptly. "That's just the tip of the iceberg, though. I know oceans more secrets about you that have nothing to do with me, but since we're working out our issues, I thought these would help facilitate a more open and honest dialogue. And I never said the Victoria's Secret credit card is about me. Your Freudian slip that the card you use to buy lingerie is about me is a particularly fascinating insight." He slipped his hand in hers. "A most welcome one, I might add."

"That's not what I meant," she protested weakly. "You were just—clearly making the innuendo."

"Uh-huh," Jane said, concealing a smile. "In that case, why _do_ you buy so much Victoria's Secret underwear, Agent Lisbon?"

"They make good underwear," Lisbon defended. "And I always know how their bras are going to fit, so I don't have to waste time going to the store to try things on."

"I agree," Jane said. "About the quality, that is. I was especially impressed by the workmanship on that burgundy lace number you bought not too long ago."

"Okay, fine, I'm an open book," Lisbon said, annoyed. She poked him in the ribs. "Why don't you tell me three secrets about yourself to even the scales a bit?"

Jane considered this. "Very well. What do you want to know?"

"Surprise me," she said dryly.

He thought for a moment. "Remember the Todd Johnson case?"

"I'd hardly be likely to forget it," Lisbon said, thinking about the man being set on fire in the CBI and half her colleagues being under suspicion for it.

"I mean, specifically, when we were out in Vineland and I woke you up in the middle of the night to help me run the con on Ellis Mars," Jane clarified.

Lisbon's thoughts shifted to Jane yanking out a strand of her hair to frame Mars. "What about it?"

"Instead of answering the door, you opened the window, half asleep in that Bears jersey of yours."

"So?"

"When you shut the window and drew the blinds to get dressed, I tried to peek through the window."

She stared at him. "You peeked?"

"Well—I tried. Through the window. Then through the peephole. Couldn't see anything, though," he said with a disappointed sigh. "I stepped up my game on sneaking peeks down your blouse after that, though."

"Stepped up your game? Just how long have you been playing that game?"

"Oh, I'd say since about...June eighth, 2007." He looked at her affectionately. "You really didn't know?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't know."

He looked at her knowingly. "Now you think you should be offended by that, but secretly you're flattered and a little turned on by the fact that I was looking."

"You know that's totally creepy, right?" Lisbon said, ignoring the part about being flattered and turned on, mainly because it was true. "If any other man that I worked with spent that much time looking down my shirt, I would break his fingers."

"If anyone else was fortunate enough to do so and escape the punishment I would mete out for such an offense, I hope you would break each of his fingers slowly and painfully for demeaning you and daring to disrespect your authority. But since I wasn't demeaning you, but basking in worshipful admiration, I hope you will spare my fingers."

Lisbon was silent for a moment. "But you never…You always seemed so…untouched by anything sexual."

He looked at her closely. "I see. You think because I didn't outwardly betray sexual thoughts, I couldn't have been very deeply impacted by them?"

"Jane, you never even _looked_ at anyone seriously in the past ten years. You can see why I'm having a hard time swallowing that you were apparently checking me out the whole time."

"I _did_ look. At one person." He looked at her meaningfully. "As I've just explained."

Jane's words about Bosco suddenly flashed through her mind. _He's very recessive in his passions_. She did know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jane would kill and die for her. She shook her head, still having trouble getting it all to compute. "But—"

He sighed. "Teresa, think about it. How could I let you see? I was a mess when I first met you. Even when I started to emerge, even a little bit, from the grief, I had nothing to offer you. I was certain the outcome of my revenge would result in me dead or in jail. There was no point in …raising expectations. On either side. But I liked being near you. I found myself making excuses to spend more time with you. To justify my behavior, I told myself I could appreciate your beauty and kindness as an aesthetic experience, without getting too close. There was only one problem."

Lisbon glanced at him warily. "What was that?"

He gave her the soul inside out look. "The more time I spent with you, the closer I wanted to be."

This was the trouble with Jane. He spent most of his time being so infuriating she wanted to strangle him, and then he'd go and say something like that and all her resolve to stay angry at him would melt into a big, stupid, gooey puddle. She flushed, and pulled her hand out of his, not wanting him to read her reaction and think he was totally off the hook. "You think you're awfully smooth, don't you?"

"Lamentably, no," he said ruefully. "If I had, you storming off in anger twice in under twenty-four hours would have firmly disabused me of that notion."

She looked away. "I'm sorry for storming off."

"You don't need to apologize for that, Teresa," he said. "Whenever you feel any emotion strongly, you need time to work through it on your own. I don't begrudge you the time you need to process."

He knew her so well. Impulsively, she leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for that."

He looked pleased. "You're welcome. Do you want to hear my next secret now?"

She was still reeling from the first one, but she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity. "Yes, please."

"Erica Flynn fooled me."

She frowned. "What? When?"

He took a deep breath. "I didn't let her escape."

She came to a dead halt. "You didn't?"

He stopped again and faced her. "Nope."

She shook her head. "I don't understand. Why didn't you just tell me when I asked you?"

"Oh, because I enjoyed seeing you jealous." He rocked on his heels and looked off to the side. "And because I didn't want to admit she'd pulled one over on me."

"I see. So it comes back to your vanity again, does it?"

"I'm not particularly proud of it, but I suppose so, yes." He fidgeted. "She kissed me, you know."

She went taut with tension again. "When?"

He sighed. "Not long before she escaped."

It turned out Lisbon wasn't as okay as she'd thought with the idea of Jane being taken in by a femme fatale's 'sultry ways.' "I see," she said, her voice clipped. She turned away.

"Now you're upset again," Jane observed.

"No, I'm not," she said stiffly. Then, less stiffly: "I'm trying not to be."

"She was trying to seduce me into letting her escape," Jane said. He paused. "It didn't work."

"Yet, she escaped," Lisbon said, her voice straining to be light.

"I had nothing to do with that," he said sharply.

She rounded on him. "Did you kiss her back?"

"Yes," Jane said, unflinching. "She kissed me, and I kissed her back."

"Because she intrigued you," Lisbon said flatly.

"Partly," Jane said. "But mostly because I wanted to see if I could kiss someone without… I wanted to test myself. Erica was a manipulative murderer, so there was no risk with her."

"Without what? Test yourself with what? No risk of what?" Lisbon said, frustrated. God, even when he was trying to be honest he couldn't give her the whole story straight out.

He looked down. "That's part of the third thing."

"The third thing?" Lisbon said, confused.

"The third secret," Jane said.

"What about it?" she said, wary.

"I had a panic attack when I went to dinner with Kristina Frye," he told her. "That's the third thing I was going to tell you."

"You had a panic attack?" Lisbon said, concerned. "I've never known you to have panic attacks."

"I don't have them often anymore. That time when I was in the mental hospital—I had them pretty often, then. Sophie helped me learn to deal with them. I'm pretty good at controlling them, now."

Hiding them, you mean, she thought. Only Jane could hide something like that. "What happened with Kristina?"

"Nothing. We were at a restaurant. Talking. It was going fine. I was telling her the story of the time I escaped from jail. She was laughing. I could feel it coming on, so I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Did a couple of breathing exercises. Washed my hands. Then went back to the table."

Lisbon frowned. "That doesn't sound like any panic attack I've ever heard of. Usually people feel paralyzed, don't they? Like they can't breathe?"

"Mine are usually limited-symptom panic attacks," Jane explained. "My heart rate speeds up, my palms start sweating. I have a little shortness of breath, but not as bad as most people with panic disorder experience. They don't last as long as most people's do, either."

"I never knew any of that," Lisbon said, feeling sad again. He shouldn't have had to go through all that alone. Ever.

Jane shook his head. "I didn't want you to know."

"I would have wanted to help you. I would have wanted to hold your hand until you felt better. You know that, right?"

He took her hand again. "I do."

They started walking again. It was going to take them all afternoon to get home, at this rate. "You said you don't get them often anymore. What does that mean, exactly? How often is often?"

He avoided her gaze. "I had a few while I was in Vegas. Before that, the last couple were—well, I had one when I found you with that bomb strapped to your chest. I calmed down once you regained consciousness, because I needed to focus on figuring out how to get it off of you, but I was frozen for a second there. I had another one when I heard O'Laughlin shoot you. The one before that was longer ago. When you disarmed that bomb under the Dutch forgery in that rich guy's house. When the little girl was hiding from you under the couch."

Times when her life had been threatened, Lisbon realized. She knew people with panic disorder tended to avoid places or situations that had triggered attacks in the past. Suddenly, Jane's obsession with keeping her safe appeared in a whole new light.

"Anyway," Jane continued. "That's part of why I kissed Erica."

Lisbon had almost forgotten about Erica under the weight of this latest revelation. "To…test yourself?"

He nodded. "I wanted to see if I could get through it without having a panic attack. To see if I was even capable of having a normal reaction to a simple kiss. So I turned off my brain for five seconds and kissed her back. If it didn't go well, it was Erica, and she was on her way back to jail, so what did it matter? I thought I could conceal it from her, if the worst happened, so she couldn't use it against me."

More hiding, Lisbon thought. "Why do you think you had that attack with Kristina?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. She was laughing at my jail story, and suddenly I started thinking about Red John again. It was that feeling of unreality, you know? What am I doing here? Can I really be what this person expects me to be?" He looked away again. "And knowing that the answer was no."

"Oh, Jane," Lisbon sighed, squeezing his hand.

"Patrick," he reminded her. "You've been slipping a lot this morning."

"I know," she said, tucking her head against his neck again. "It's just—you are Jane to me. I'm still getting used to Patrick."

"You need more practice," he said. "We'll need to have a few more fights so you can practice calling me Patrick when you're mad at me."

She frowned. "Why's that?"

"You forget more frequently when you're upset," he said. "We need you to get to the place where you instinctively call me Patrick when you're angry. Then we'll know you've got it down well enough not to slip in front of anybody else."

"Okay," she said dubiously. "I'll work on it."

"Good," Jane said, satisfied.

She raised her head from his shoulder. "Thank you for telling me your three things," she said. "I know I keep—I don't always react well to the things you tell me. But I'm really glad you're sharing things with me."

He kissed her temple. "I told you. I want you to be sure of me."

"So where does all of this leave us?" she asked. "Regarding Red John, I mean."

He sighed and let go of her. Lisbon immediately felt bereft. "Teresa," he said, his voice heavy. "I wish you could understand. He's not going to just…give up."

"I'm not talking about him," she snapped, annoyed. "I'm talking about you."

"But the two are hopelessly intertwined, don't you see?" Jane said. "Let's say we did things your way. We manage to catch him, put him in jail. Do you really think that would be the end of it? He poisoned a woman in CBI custody, Teresa. Set a man on fire in the CBI building. Do you think he'd just go quietly?"

Lisbon felt ill, thinking of the fates of Rebecca Anderson and Todd Johnson. "No," she admitted reluctantly. "But we'd cross that bridge when we came to it."

"What if he's got a plan in place?" Jane persisted. "We know he has allies. What if we catch him and he puts out an order to kill everyone on the team? Their families? Your family?"

Lisbon went pale at the thought of Red John going after her brothers and their families, but she held her ground. "There are an awful lot of what ifs in that scenario, Jane."

He shook his head. "If we don't anticipate those what ifs, the bridge will be burnt by the time we come to it. Can you really live with that?"

She knew she couldn't. "What do you expect me to say, Jane? That I'm suddenly fine with the idea of you going after him with the intention of murdering him out of revenge?"

"It's not just about revenge anymore, Teresa," he said, frustrated. "It hasn't been for a long time. This what I've been trying to tell you. It's about trying to protect the people on this planet I still give a damn about. Because there's not a doubt in my mind that if he thinks we're getting close enough to catch him, he will lash out and rain destruction on everyone we love."

The corners of her mouth turned down. "So that's it, huh? You're determined to kill him, no matter what."

He was quiet for a long moment. "What if I could guarantee I wouldn't end up in jail or dead?"

"How would you do that?" Lisbon asked suspiciously.

He shrugged. "Ideally, by framing another murderer for Red John's death."

Lisbon closed her eyes. "Jane."

"Admittedly, it's not ideal," Jane said. "It would make it much more complicated." He thought for a moment. "Unless I could somehow manipulate the murderer into actually killing Red John for me."

"Like you did with Red John and Panzer?" Lisbon said skeptically. Then she realized the significance of what he was saying. In the past, he'd always insisted that Red John was 'his.' He viewed vengeance as his right, and he guarded it jealously. But now he was talking about letting someone else kill him. What he was suggesting was still twisted and disturbing, but she took a perverse comfort in this evidence that he really had changed.

"Well, it would be the reverse, in this case," Jane said. "But yes, the same general principle would apply."

"And that worked out so well the last time," Lisbon said sarcastically.

Jane looked at her, surprised. "It _did_ work."

"And resulted in the FBI nosing around for months afterwards," Lisbon reminded him.

"But it all came to nothing in the end," he protested.

She shook her head. "It's too risky."

"Okay, what if I lured him out, and put myself in a position where I had to kill him out of self-defense?"

"You think I'd be okay with you making yourself a target?" Lisbon said, incredulous. "He's killed over twenty-five people, Jane. Your idea of self-defense is to duck when someone tries to punch you in the nose. You really think you're going to come out on top in that contest?"

He sighed. "You're not leaving me with a lot of options, here, Teresa."

She was silent for a long moment. "Take me with you," she said finally.

He looked over at her. "Take you with me?"

"When the time comes. When you know who he is, and how to find him. Just…promise me you won't go haring off on your own. Take me with you."

He shook his head. "If you come, I'll be distracted, worrying how he might use you against me. I'll have a much better chance of taking him down if you aren't there."

"I don't care," she said stubbornly.

"_I_ care," he said sharply. "That's the whole point."

"Jane, we don't know what's going to happen," she said desperately. "All those what ifs—there are a thousand more that we have no way of anticipating. Just—whatever you're going to do, promise me you'll keep me in the loop. That you'll include me in whatever you learn. That when the time comes, we'll face him together."

Now Jane was silent a long moment. "Very well," he said at last.

She looked at him sharply. "You will?" Disbelief colored her tone.

"I will," he said solemnly.

"You promise?"

"I promise," he said. He sounded unhappy about it, which made her slightly more confident in his answer.

Her voice wavered. "You're not—you're not lying to me right now, to get me to back down?" she said uncertainly, her voice thick in her throat.

He shook his head. "I wouldn't lie to you, Teresa. Not about this."

She believed him. He'd always been up front with his intentions about Red John. And he wouldn't do that to her.

Tears pricked her eyes. She flung her arms around him, bringing them both to a halt on the sidewalk. She held him to her in a death grip, so tightly their ribs pressed up against each other. Jane, still juggling the laptop bag, put his free arm around her and buried his face in her neck.

"Does this mean you're open to renegotiation on the neck kissing?" he murmured into her neck.

She lifted her head and kissed him hard on the mouth. "Not a chance."

He sighed. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

She took his hand again as they turned onto their street at last.

They were almost home.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Bonus chapter this week because this chapter is super short.

xxx

Jane looked at his cards and raised his eyebrows. He pushed his pile of M&Ms into the pot. "All in."

Lisbon narrowed her eyes at Jane and stated firmly, "You're bluffing. I call."

His eyes twinkling, he peered over his cards at her with the most infuriating smirk. "You sure about that?"

"Call," she growled, pushing her own pile of M&Ms into the pot.

Jane's smirk widened. Without another word, he turned his cards to face her. Two aces.

Lisbon's mouth fell open. "Are you cheating again?" she demanded.

Jane chuckled. "I'm not cheating. You just happened to deal me two aces."

"Dammit, Patrick, I know you have a card up your sleeve somewhere," Lisbon said, grabbing his wrist and pushing up his sleeve in search of the hidden card. Nothing. She grabbed the other one and gave it the same treatment. Still nothing.

Jane beamed at her. "Very good, Teresa. You're really making progress. Isn't this training session working out just like I said it would?"

"Shut up, you condescending ass," she grumbled, releasing his arm. She looked forlornly at her surrendered pile of M&Ms.

He cupped a hand around his ear. "I'm sorry. What was that?"

"Shut up, _Patrick_," she emphasized. She waited a beat. "You condescending ass."

Jane chortled in delight. "We'd better go again," he said, collecting the cards and shuffling them. "A few more rounds of this, and you'll be ready to face the world."

Poker had been Jane's idea. According to him, Lisbon's default setting was hardwired to produce the name Jane when she was annoyed. They had to "recode" her to call him Patrick. Jane's concept of recoding involved provoking her repeatedly through blatant cheating and obnoxious crowing over his every victory at poker. If he could get her to call him Patrick every time he infuriated her with one of his irritating comments or underhanded tricks, then the reprogramming experience would be complete. Lisbon, recognizing the importance of the broader goal, had reluctantly agreed.

"One more," she conceded. "Then I need to get back to my writing."

He peered at her over the deck as he shuffled the cards in preparation to deal the next hand. "I was sort of kidding before, about your workaholic ways, but this is going to be a real issue, isn't it? You're going to be at the office late rushing for deadlines, and I'm going to be home alone, sighing into my pearls and apron over the waste of a perfect soufflé."

"Don't be so dramatic. I haven't even started yet."

"That's exactly my point. You haven't even started the job and you're already so invested in it that you want to work fourteen hours a day just to get ready for it."

"That's just because I have this crazy deadline," Lisbon protested. "It won't be like that when I actually start work."

He shook his head and started dealing the cards. "Famous last words."

She glared at him. "I just saw you palm that card, Patrick."

He smirked. "This training is serving double duty, I see. Soon I will have no secrets from you, my dear."

"That'll be the day," Lisbon muttered, snatching the pilfered card out of his hand.

"I'm trying, Teresa," he said, unexpectedly serious.

She glanced at him and softened immediately. "I know you are," she said quietly.

He looked at her expectantly. "So, are you going to try, too?"

She blinked, taken aback. "Try to what?"

"Curb those workaholic tendencies we were just talking about," he said, as though this were perfectly obvious.

Her brow furrowed. "I—" She frowned. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

He snorted. "Teresa, you work more than any other three people combined. All the night staff at the CBI know you by name."

"Since when do you care when I work long hours?" she said, stung.

"Well, I've always thought it a bit unhealthy," he said remorselessly. "But I didn't mind when I was at the office late, too."

"Oh," she said, disarmed. "But now…?"

"Well, if I'm going to get dressed up in pearls for your benefit, I think you should make an effort to be home in time to appreciate the soufflé," he said.

"Are you serious about this?" she asked, the image of the apron and pearls making it difficult to focus on anything else.

"This _is_ our honeymoon, dearest," he reminded her.

She glared at him again. "One that so far has been missing a critical ingredient, _dear._"

He reached across the table and captured her hand. "Not for long," he said, giving her the soul inside out look. He squeezed her hand. "I told you I wanted to treat this whole thing as an extended vacation. Take a time out from pitting our wits against murderers every single day."

Lisbon shook her head. "Only you would describe running for our lives as a vacation."

"But it does feel like that, doesn't it?" he persisted.

"Sort of," she admitted. Not getting called at four am to go to crime scenes definitely fit the bill. Not having to justify Jane's latest exploits to Bertram was another definite perk.

"So I think we should take advantage of this situation and prioritize spending quality time with one another."

She raised her eyebrows. "To keep working through our issues?"

"Well, yes," he said. "But also to just…have fun together."

"Fun," she repeated, as though it were a foreign concept. "Together."

"Yes."

"And to do this, you think I need to curb my workaholic tendencies at a job I haven't even gotten yet?" she clarified.

"Exactly."

She was quiet for a moment, thinking of all Jane had sacrificed to be here with her. "I'll work on it," she muttered.

"Excellent," Jane said, withdrawing his hand and picking up his cards.

She reached out and seized his hand. Then squeezed his wrist, hard. He yelped and dropped the card he'd just stolen from her. "_Patrick_," she scolded him. She snatched the card back up and glared.

He grinned.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: This chapter is rated M for sexual content and gratuitous turtleneck references.

xxx

They checked in with Montrose and Soren briefly on Wednesday morning, but other than that, Lisbon spent the first half of the week writing furiously. She feverishly checked and double checked everything, working straight through the afternoon and evening on Wednesday, and finally submitted the last article at eleven o clock that night. She climbed into bed with Jane and fell into exhausted slumber.

On Thursday, she got up early, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off her. She was proud of finishing everything on time. No matter how the interview went, she had at least done everything she could to prepare for it. She went for a long run to reward herself for her diligence. She'd never thought of herself as a writer, but in the course of revising all those articles, she'd learned a lot about her own style and methods, and had even gotten better at it as she completed more and more of them. She was starting to think she might just pull this thing off.

When she got back to the house after her run, Jane was waiting for her, prowling the living room like a caged panther.

"Hey," she said breathlessly, pushing a sweaty lock of hair out of her eyes. She stopped, catching sight of his agitated pacing. "What's with you?"

"I woke up and you weren't there," he accused.

"Sorry," she said. She walked back to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. "I went for a run."

"Obviously," he said, exasperated. He followed her into the kitchen. "You couldn't think of any better way to spend your morning?"

She got a glass down from the cupboard and frowned. "Did you want to go out to breakfast or something? It's still early. We have time if you want to beat the rush at that diner you found the other day."

"No, Teresa," he said, pained. "I do not want to go out to breakfast."

"Okay," she said, studying him warily as she filled the glass from the tap. "Then why are you all worked up about me going for a run?"

"Because," he said with exaggerated patience. "Today is Thursday."

She took a long pull from the glass. "So?"

His eyes tracked her mouth. "So, I thought we had a date."

"We did? To do what?"

He met her eyes. The look in his eyes could only be described as smoldering. "To have and to hold," he said meaningfully.

She swallowed, her throat instantly dry. She hastily took another swig from the glass. "Oh."

He shook his head. "I can't believe you forgot, after giving me such a hard time—"

"I didn't forget," she protested. She set down the glass, her hands suddenly shaky. "I just—we didn't really talk about it again after our fight. I didn't know the, um, date, was still on."

"Oh, it's on," he said, stepping towards her. He slid his hands under her sweaty t-shirt and rested them on her hips, then bent his head to hers. "And you, my dear," he said, brushing his lips against hers, "are officially late."

She curled her fingers into the front of his t-shirt and kissed him back. "Sorry I'm late," she said, a little breathlessly.

Jane bit her bottom lip. "Not a problem." He shifted closer and ran his beautiful hands up and down the skin of her back. "You're worth the wait."

She shivered in his arms. "Patrick," she protested half-heartedly. "I'm all sweaty."

"So?" He gave her sweaty neck a long lick. "I like you sweaty."

"Ungh—" Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. "I need to shower—"

"What do you need to shower for?" he protested. "I'm just going to get you all sweaty again anyway."

She hesitated, torn between lust and self-consciousness. "Call me a romantic, but I don't want to spend any of our first time together worrying about what I smell like."

He rubbed his nose against her neck. "I like the way you smell. It's you."

"If sweaty and gross works for you, I promise you can ravish me first thing after a run another day," she said, attempting to disentangle herself. "But for our first time, I'd really like my hair at least to be clean."

"Very well," he said, reluctantly releasing her. "I suppose you'll need breakfast, too." He swooped in and stole another kiss. "You'll need to keep your strength up."

She kissed him back and grinned into his mouth. "Promises, promises."

He swatted her lightly on the ass. "Go take your shower, woman, or you won't get out of this kitchen un-ravished."

She took an embarrassingly long time to shower and dry her hair. Then of course she was faced with the decision of what to wear. She pulled her underwear drawer open and glanced at the thong, but she couldn't quite bring herself to put it on. Despite their agreement, it somehow felt too…calculating. Feeling self-conscious, she slipped on a pair of simple cotton underwear and matching bra instead. Then she pulled on one of the sundresses Jane had picked out for her, reasoning that Jane wasn't actually going to care what the hell she was wearing, so she might as well focus on logistics and pick something he could strip off of her quickly when the time came. Her hands shook as she did up the zipper on the side. Belatedly, it occurred to her that she was dawdling because she was nervous. It was one thing to react in the heat of the moment, but now, in the cold light of day, doubt rushed in. Was she really ready to topple them into a situation that would produce such a seismic shift in their relationship? Those six months without him had been so hard. If things went wrong, today, or tomorrow, or whenever the end came with Red John, would she be able to survive with that cold empty place inside her again, for months or years, indefinitely?

But the thought of never having him—that was so much worse. She closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers around the ring and cross around her neck. She said a silent prayer, asking God for strength and courage. This felt like a strange thing to pray for when preparing to make love to the man she loved, but was nonetheless what she felt she needed the most. She took a deep breath and went to find Jane in the kitchen.

He'd made her waffles with whipped cream and blueberry syrup. A small bowl of fruit stood beside it.

He looked up when she came in. "There you are," he said, flashing a quick smile at her. "I was about to come in after you."

"Sorry. I was…" She trailed off, searching for the words.

"Nervous?" he guessed.

She blew out a breath. "Yeah."

He held her gaze. "Me, too."

She did a double take. "Really?"

He coughed. "Well, it occurred to me that you may have certain, ah, expectations of my ability to anticipate your preferences in the bedroom…"

She raised her eyebrows. "And you don't think you'll be able to meet those expectations?" Jane was not known for a lack of self-assurance in…well, in anything. The concept that he was actually worried about not being able to please her was difficult to wrap her head around. Especially since he'd already demonstrated in the course of the limited opportunities they'd had for exploring such things that he could set every nerve ending she had alight in a matter of seconds. And that had been when they were both fully clothed.

"I'm a little concerned my judgment may become impaired due to sensory overload the first time around," he admitted ruefully.

She shook her head. "I'm not worried about that." Based on her experience so far, she was pretty sure he'd barely have to touch her to set her off. "I'm worried about…after."

He took her hand and kissed the palm. "I don't want you to worry about that. I'm going to take care of you, Teresa. I promise you." He leaned forward and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to her lips. "Now, eat your breakfast."

"Okay," she said, relieved. She sat down at the kitchen counter and pulled a plate of waffles towards her. She tucked in, her nerves combined with her long run making her extra hungry. Jane sat down opposite her.

Noticing he hadn't touched his food, she looked up to find him staring at her like she was a stack of waffles with blueberry syrup. She flushed, then kicked him under the counter. "Eat your breakfast," she chided. "You need to keep your strength up, too."

"Yes, dear," he said with a grin. He obediently picked up his fork and took a bite of waffle.

Lisbon cast her mind about for something to distract herself from attacking him over the counter. "Have you figured out when you're going to start school yet?"

He nodded. "I'm going in on Monday to talk to the principal and will start teaching on Tuesday."

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Hard to say. I'm confident I can manipulate the administrators into giving me the latitude to do things the way I want to, I suppose. But the carnie kid in me feels like I might be overreaching my grasp with this bit of fraud. This isn't just tricking murderers into betraying themselves. It's shaping young minds." He looked down at his plate. "It's a big responsibility."

She reached out and touched the back of his hand. "You're gonna be great," she said softly.

He looked up, his eyes full of hope. "Yeah?" He flipped his hand over and threaded his fingers through hers, giving them a little squeeze.

She nodded. "If I had a kid, I'd love for him or her to be in your class," she said with absolute sincerity.

"Really?" he said, pleased.

"I've seen you with kids," she reminded him. "Any kid in your class- I know you won't let anyone hurt them. Whether that's the school bully or an incompetent vice principal or their own parent—you'll see it, and you'll figure out some way to help them. And you're good at getting people what you want them to do. You'll be able to wrangle the kids more easily than most people would be able to."

"You clearly haven't spent that much time with a group of five year olds," he said ruefully. "They're the toughest group of people on the planet to con."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm not worried."

He eyed her with an unreadable expression. "So…if you had a kid, you'd be okay leaving that kid with me all day?"

She blushed again. "Sure. They'd probably pick up all sorts of terrible habits like picking pockets and cheating at poker, but they'd be well-equipped to deal with the world, and you'd help make sure that they had a kind heart."

His eyes didn't leave hers. "Is that…something you want? Children of your own, I mean?"

She swallowed hard and drew her hand away. She shot him a pleading look. "Can we—can we table that conversation for another time?" She didn't think she could handle another emotionally weighty issue taking up any brain space on this particular day.

"Yes," he said, too quickly. "Quite right. One relationship defining event at a time."

"Thanks," she said gratefully.

He took another bite of waffle, but chewed as if he wasn't tasting it. "What time is your interview tomorrow?"

"Eleven," she told him.

"Good," he said, satisfied. "You'll get to sleep in." Then his face fell.

"What?" she asked, taking another bite of her own waffle. He was missing out—it really was excellent.

"I just realized," he said, pained. "What are you going to wear to your interview?"

"A suit, I guess," she said. Then the penny dropped. "Oh. I don't have any of my suits here," she realized. She frowned. "Damn."

"We'll have to go shopping," he said, disappointed. "I guess we'd better push back our date."

"What?" she said, alarmed. "No. It's fine. I'll go tomorrow morning, pick something up on the way to the interview."

He shook his head. "We'd better do it today, get it over with. Once I get you into bed, I'm not going to want to let you out of it for at least twenty-four hours. With the interview at eleven, that will be cutting it pretty close."

She looked at him askance. He sounded serious. "Okay, fine," she said dubiously. "But let's make it quick."

He sighed. "Really not the words I was hoping to hear from you today. But in this case, I suppose I have to agree with the sentiment."

xxx

Lisbon felt her mouth pull into a grimace the minute they stepped foot in the shopping mall. Ugh. She couldn't believe she was actually passing up sex with Jane in favor of one of her least favorite activities. One of the reasons she had that damn Victoria Secret card in the first place was so she could just get what she needed online and never have to actually set foot in the stores.

Jane turned to her. "Okay. Don't take this the wrong way. But this will go a lot faster if you let me be in charge."

"What do you mean, let you be in charge?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, I have better taste than you do, and I'll be able to identify what suits you much more efficiently than you will," he said, as though this were obvious.

She raised her eyebrows. "You think you'll be able to figure out what clothes will work for me better than I can?" she said, ignoring the 'better taste' crack.

"Of course. I've spent much more time looking at you than you have," he said logically.

She snorted. "Very reasonable."

"Also, I won't waste time fretting over every price tag I come across," he continued. "I'll just pick out a few things for you, and we'll be in and out in no time."

"A few things?" she repeated. "Patrick, you already bought me all that stuff the other day. I just need something for the interview."

He shook his head. "I bought you the bare necessities. You need every day work clothes."

"We can deal with that later," Lisbon said, feeling distinctly put out. If he tried to stonewall her one more time on this issue—

"If we wait, we'll have to come back this weekend," he argued. "And I was only planning to let you leave the bed for the interview tomorrow." Again, he sounded completely serious. "When it's over, I was planning to lure you back there and keep you there the rest of the weekend. Let's get it over with now—then we can start our honeymoon properly, without any tedious errands hanging over our heads."

Well, when he put it that way… "Fine," she acceded. "But only if I get to pick some things out for you, too."

"Deal," he said. He fixed her with a look. "And before you start – you know I have plenty of money left over from my trip to the casino, right?"

She had no idea how much he'd won that day, but she could imagine. "I suppose."

"So do you promise not to waste time arguing about prices?" he said expectantly.

She made a face. "Fine. But don't start picking out thousand dollar designer dresses or anything—try to behave as though you're a normal person with at least some concept of what it means to spend within a budget."

"Okay," he agreed. He put his hand at the small of her back. "Let's get started."

Xxx

It wasn't as bad as she'd anticipated. Jane assessed every outfit he passed at a glance, selecting only those he deemed the correct size, cut, and style and placing them in a growing pile in Lisbon's arms. At first, she insisted on trying on everything he picked out, not trusting that he could accurately predict what would fit her properly just by looking at something on a hanger, but after the first couple stores, she gave it up. The experience of modeling clothing Jane had picked out for her to Jane himself while he looked at her like he wanted to devour her had her running so hot she was desperate to get the whole business over with and get back to the house. So she let Jane add stuff to the pile and stopped arguing.

She did manage to get him to buy a few things for himself, including, shockingly, a handful of ties that he picked out for himself. "Part of my disguise as a working stiff," he explained at her amazed look. Apparently, though, these were not intended to be worn with any of his usual style of suits—he said he was going for 'the bespoke professor look.' This seemed to include a combination of button down shirts, jeans, a few jackets, and the odd sweater. When he tried on one of those tweed jackets with the funny elbow patches and a pair of reading glasses to make her laugh, she'd actually been speechless for a second. "Okay," she said finally. "Shopping trip's over. Let's get out of here."

"Really, Teresa?" he said, delighted. "Absent-minded professor? That's the look that flips your switch? Should I add a turtleneck and pipe to complete the ensemble?"

"Shut up," she growled. "Are you ready to go or not?"

"Well, I'm obviously going to need a tweed jacket now," he said, replacing the one with the elbow patches and picking out three more fashionable variations on the theme before heading to the register.

She made Jane let her drive the Prius back to the house, thinking it would be a good thing to have something other than Jane and his stupid beautiful hair and mouth and big beautiful hands to focus on for the duration of the twenty minute drive. But since Jane spent the whole drive tracing patterns on her thigh with his fingertips and smoldering at her from the passenger seat, she had considerable difficulty keeping her attention on the road.

Xxx

When she pulled into the driveway back at the house, she barely got the car into park and her seatbelt off before their eyes met and they reached for each other. They made out in the front seat for several frantic minutes before they finally managed to separate long enough to get out of the car. They managed to more or less contain themselves through the process of making their way through the front garden and getting the door unlocked, but the minute the door closed behind them, Lisbon found herself with her back against the door being kissed within an inch of her life.

Jane's mouth found her neck. "Oh," he said with feeling, his mouth pressing a series of long, wet kisses to her neck. "I missed this."

Lisbon let her head fall back against the door. "What a hardship you've suffered," she said breathlessly, running her hands through his hair to encourage him as she kicked off her sandals. "Three whole days of not being allowed to kiss my neck, after never kissing me at all for ten years."

"You were very cruel to deny me the neck, Teresa," he said, pressing kiss after kiss there.

"You brought it on yourself," she panted, utterly without remorse. She clutched at him, desperate to have him closer.

"Sorry about that." He bit down on her collarbone. "Am I forgiven?"

"Not yet," she said, arching into him. She dragged his head back up so she could find his mouth with hers.

He kissed her long and deep. "I'll make it up to you."

"You'd better," she said, attacking the buttons on his shirt with fervor at the same time as he found the zipper on her dress.

They collided in the middle, arms and sleeves tangled as they each tried to get the other's clothing off at the same time, but they managed in the end. They left two puddles of fabric on the floor as they made their way down the hall, their mouths fused together again.

Jane's shoes thudded onto the floor halfway down the hall. Socks toed off in the doorway. Then they were on the bed at last, and Jane was touching her. His hands—God, his hands were everywhere. Running up and down her legs, then tracing the slope of her breast. Ghosting along the side of her ribs, her stomach, grasping her hip. All without relinquishing her mouth.

They were still wearing far too many clothes. Lisbon groaned into his mouth and sat up, unhooking her bra with unprecedented desperation and flinging it to the side. Then she reached for his belt.

Jane, as usual, was not cooperating. When she finally got her bra off, his eyes darkened and he paused. He grasped her hands and pulled her into his lap before she could manage to get his belt off, drinking in the sight of her. He reached out and cupped her breasts, one in each hand. "God, you're beautiful," he said in wonder. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on each breast, his breath unsteady. "Exquisite."

Lisbon squirmed on his lap, desperate for more contact.

He groaned. "Wait—wait. Are you trying to kill me, woman?"

She bit his shoulder and reached down between their bodies to stroke his erection through the front of his trousers. "I'm tired of waiting."

His breath hissed out between his teeth and his hips jerked involuntarily. "Please," he begged, his voice ragged. "Please. Let me—let me…" He tipped her onto her back. He gazed down at her, his eyes black with desire. "Let me look at you," he said hoarsely. "Let me touch you."

As impatient as she felt, she couldn't deny him anything when he was looking at her like that. He looked at her like he'd stumbled across the eighth wonder of the world, and she was it. Unable to find her voice, she just nodded, her eyes fixed on his.

It was torturously slow. Jane insisted on kissing every inch of her, refusing to be rushed. He spent ages on her breasts, cupping, squeezing, tasting. He roamed over her at will, whispering words of love into her skin. She thought he might have set a personal goal to kiss every freckle on her body before the afternoon was over. Lisbon thrashed under the touch of lips and tongue, her fingers twisting the sheets. She needed him so badly she could hardly bear it.

She nearly wept with relief when he finally peeled her underwear off her and tossed it over his shoulder.

But he only paused and inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent, before kissing his way back to her breasts again, taking one into his mouth and starting the whole sensuous torture over again.

She hooked her leg over his hip, desperately seeking the friction she needed. "Patrick," she said wildly. "Please."

"Shh," he soothed, capturing her leg with one hand and running his hand down the back of her thigh, stroking her skin with a sure, light touch.

She almost sobbed with frustration. That so wasn't helping.

Then he slid his hand between her legs and brushed his thumb over her clit, once, twice.

Lisbon threw her head back and arched in release, gasping in relief.

Jane paused. "Did you just…?" he asked, startled.

"Shut up," she growled, and flipped them over before he could get too smug about the fact that he'd barely needed to touch her to make her come apart. The bastard was still wearing his pants, for God's sake.

Together, they made short work of his pants and boxers, and then finally, Jane was beneath her, naked. She paused, staring down at him. Good God, the man was beautiful.

"Where's the condom?" she asked desperately, twisting around—were they in the bathroom? She did not want to go that far away from him right now.

"Here." Jane reached into the bedside table and produced a condom. He sat up. "You, uh, better let me. I'm a little—yeah. Not sure I can get through this process without embarrassing myself if you touch me right now."

"Fine," she said impatiently. Whatever would get him inside her the fastest.

Jane put the condom on, then drew her to him, arranging her on his lap with her arms around his neck and his hands on her hips. "This okay, sweetheart?" he said.

She bit her lip and nodded, and then he guided himself into her as she shifted forward and sank down on him. She gasped again, overwhelmed by the feeling of him filling her.

"Hold on," Jane gasped. His fingertips dug into her hips. "I—I need a sec."

"Okay," she said, and leaned forward to kiss him. She could exercise a little patience, now that she finally had him where she wanted him.

He kissed her back, a little desperately. Then he leaned his forehead against hers and they breathed in and out together in slow, measured breaths together while he got himself under control.

Then he flexed his hips, and Lisbon cried out. _Yes._ Finally. She moved with him, wanting him deeper, deeper and more, more. She kept the pace slow, sensing that was what he needed right now.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. His hands slid up and down the bare skin of her back, urging her closer. "Teresa," he breathed. "You're so good—so good to me." Another kiss, to her collarbone this time. "You're the most beautiful person I—" his breath hitched. "Most beautiful person I know. I know I don't deserve you, but I want to." His lips found her neck again. "You have no idea how much." He picked up his pace, still holding her as close as possible. "I won't let anything happen to you," he gasped, clutching her tighter. "I promise you, I won't. I couldn't bear it if something did." He peppered her neck with kisses, as an assurance, though whether to himself or her was unclear. "I won't let it, I swear." He was babbling now. "God, I missed you so much. Being away from you was awful. I never want to be apart from you again." Another gasp. "Promise me—promise me you won't… you won't—" he broke off, overcome, or perhaps afraid to ask this of her.

She kissed him. "I'm here, Patrick," she soothed, running her hands through his curls as she moved with him. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looked up at her, the truth shining out at her from his eyes. All the love and pain and longing she hadn't quite believed before was right there in front of her, unhidden. "I love you so much," he whispered, seeking her mouth again desperately. "So much."

"I love you, too," she murmured against his lips. She kissed him deeper, unable to get close enough.

And then he was moving with new urgency, words spilling out of him as he tried to bury himself deeper inside her. Words of love, of hope, of desperate need. All the while touching her back, kissing her neck, running his fingers through her hair. Lisbon couldn't speak, too overwhelmed by the sensations of their two bodies joining. She'd never felt closer to another human being in her whole life.

Then his fingers dug into her hips as he drove upwards even deeper, and she shattered.

When she came back down from the heavens, he was cradling her close, as though she were the most precious thing on the planet. Still hard inside her.

"I need to…" She gestured, trying to get her breath back.

He obliged her, flipping them over so he was on top. She nearly wept when he pulled out for a moment to reposition, but then he was there again, filling her, and she dug her own fingers into his hips to hold him there, never wanting him to leave.

He kissed her again, his arms braced under her back, still holding her close, and then he started to move again.

"Oh, my God, _Patrick_!" she gasped. She hadn't been prepared for the delicious new friction of the different angle. He sped up, and she cried out again. Then he was thrusting in and out, wild and uncontrolled. She urged him on, wanting more, more, _more_. He hitched her leg higher over his hip and drove deeper, and she broke apart once again. "_Teresa_," he gasped, then finally let go and followed her over the edge.

He collapsed on top of her, gasping for air. She ran her hands through his hair again, enjoying the weight of him on top of her.

She nearly whimpered at the loss when he pulled out to deal with the condom, but then he was back, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her close to his chest and kissing her hair.

"That was…" he gasped out, still breathing heavily.

"Yeah," she agreed, snuggling into him.

He nuzzled her hair. "Well? Did I meet expectations?"

"Well, I did have pretty high expectations," she teased. She turned her head and kissed him. "But somehow, you still managed to exceed them."

"Mm," he said, closing his eyes in satisfaction. "You, too."

They lay there for several minutes, recovering, but still unwilling to let the other out of reach. Then Jane said, "I was wrong, you know."

Lisbon traced lazy circles on his chest. "About what?" she asked, not really caring.

"I was afraid if we had sex too soon, it would interfere with the emotional progression of our relationship," he explained. "But I feel closer to you now than I ever have before. I should have been thinking of sex as a way to get closer to you, not as an impediment. I should have realized that sooner."

She kissed his shoulder. "Well, you can be pretty stupid sometimes," she agreed.

He laughed. She smiled into his chest, loving the sound of his laughter and the sensation of being in his arms. Really, aside from the removal of multiple threats against their lives and a safe return to their friends and family, who could ask for more?

Xxx

Lisbon hardly knew what she said in her interview the next day. She spoke to the managing editor, a tough, competent woman who reminded her of Hightower, and the bureau chief, a disgruntled middle-aged man who didn't seem too happy to see her. She got along with the managing editor famously, and managed to remember some of what Montrose had drilled her in to prepare for her interview. Aside from her nerves and the way her mind kept wandering back to the way Jane had looked when she'd left him in bed that morning, the hardest part was when they'd asked her about what steps she would take to investigate background on a story and she had to remember that as a reporter, she wouldn't have access to the same resources that she would as a law enforcement professional. Still, overall, she thought it had gone well, an impression borne out when she received a phone call from the managing editor twenty minutes after the interview.

"Guess what?" she called, letting herself in the house. She wandered back into the kitchen and found Jane putting away groceries. "I got the job!"

Jane set down a bottle of olive oil and leaned over to peck her on the lips. "Congratulations. I knew you would."

"How could you possibly know that?" she asked, exasperated. "I've never worked as a reporter a day in my life—they could have made me the minute I walked in there."

"Meh. You were interviewing for a job as investigative reporter. You have years of experience of investigating. That was bound to tell in the interview. And after reading your revisions to those articles, I happen to know that your pithy prose are just what newspapers like—economical, to the point, but capable of capturing the human element when you need to elicit an emotional response from your readers." Jane put away a carton of milk and three kinds of gourmet cheese. "When do you start?"

"Monday."

"Ah. Okay. In that case, there's no time to waste." He picked up the last of the grocery bags and shoved it into the fridge without looking inside it. "Your furlough is officially over."

"My furlough?" Lisbon asked, amused.

He shut the fridge door and stalked towards her with a predatory look that was starting to be familiar to her. "No more distractions. We have some serious honeymooning to take care of." Lisbon yelped in surprise as he actually picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and headed for the bedroom.

Apparently he'd been perfectly serious about keeping her in bed the whole weekend.

Lisbon, for her part, really couldn't find it in herself to complain.


	16. Chapter 16

"Okay, people," Lisbon's boss, Givens, announced. "Weekly assignments. Pens ready."

The staff of the paper gathered in the bullpen to listen to their assignments. Lisbon grabbed a notebook and pen from her new desk and joined them for her first meeting.

"Albers, Nightingale, you know the drill," Givens said, addressing two grizzled vets, Roberta Albers and Thomas Nightingale. "Business and Sports, same as usual."

Albers and Nightingale nodded without saying anything.

"Barkley," Givens said to a young woman whose desk was next to Lisbon's. "Since Wilson's out, go with Thomas to the game this afternoon, see if you can get any shots worth printing."

The young woman's mouth tightened but she jerked her head in acknowledgment.

Givens' eyes came to rest on Lisbon and a young man in his twenties, slick and gym-buffed. "Kirby," Givens said gruffly. "Take the metro beat. Meyers," he said, his distaste palpable. "Obits."

Lisbon's face fell. Okay, so she wasn't a real reporter, but even she knew obituaries was a crap assignment. She nodded, covering her disappointment. Guess she had some dues paying to do before they gave her anything really interesting to work on.

"That's it," Givens said. "Copy's due at four. Get to work."

Lisbon went back to her desk and sat down, ready to get started. The young woman, Barkley, ambled over and extended her hand. "I'm Heather. Photographer," she said. "Teresa, right?"

"That's right," Lisbon said, returning the handshake. The other woman's grip was firm but warm. "Nice to meet you."

"Welcome aboard," Heather said. "Sorry you got stuck with obits your first day. That sucks."

Lisbon shrugged. "New kid on the block. You gotta take what you can get until you prove yourself, right?"

"Hm," Heather said skeptically. "Just don't let Gibson pigeonhole you." She sighed. "Believe me, it's tough to break out of if you let that happen."

"I take it you're speaking from experience?"

"Look, I don't want to badmouth the brass on your first day, or anything," Heather said reluctantly. "But let's just say Givens is pretty old school, when it comes to his views on women in the newspaper business. As in—prehistoric."

"That bad, huh?" Lisbon said sympathetically.

Heather made a face. "He keeps assigning me to the fashion section. I mean, this isn't exactly Milan. I only got the sports assignment because Wilson's out."

"How long have you been here?" Lisbon asked curiously.

"Three years," Heather said gloomily.

"What do you want to be doing?" Lisbon asked. "Would you rather be covering sports on a regular basis?"

She shook her head. "I'd rather be doing the metro beat," she said. "But Wilson gets most of those assignments, too. Which is stupid, because the sports stuff conflicts with the metro stuff half the time. Wilson's not bad, but he can't be in two places at once."

"Sounds rough," Lisbon commented. "Any tips for breaking free of the mold?"

Heather grimaced. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

"What about the rest of the staff? Anything else I should be aware of?"

"Nah," Heather said. "Tom and Roberta are all right. They've been doing the same thing for thirty-five damn years. They're not exactly what I would call inspired, but they're good people. They'll help you find your feet if you have any questions about anything. And Hollis is great," she said, referring to the managing editor. "Really knows her stuff. She doesn't take any crap from Givens, but she's got a lot on her plate. She can't be worrying about stuff like staffing assignments."

"I interviewed with her," Lisbon said. "I really liked her. What about Wilson?"

"Wilson's not bad," Heather allowed. "He works hard, and he's a good photographer."

"And Kirby?"

"Total tool," Heather said succinctly. "His idea of investigative reporting is adding two speculative paragraphs to a press release sent out by some other organization. And his writing's crap."

Lisbon frowned. "He can't be that bad, if he's getting the metro beat. That's an important section."

"Ah, but you are forgetting," Heather said, wagging her finger at Lisbon. "He has a penis. That makes all the difference."

"I see," Lisbon said, deciding to reserve judgment for herself.

"What about you?" Heather asked. "What's your story?"

Lisbon's face heated, already dreading the amount of lying she was going to have to do to get through this conversation. "Me? What do you want to know?"

"What's your deal? What were you doing before this?"

"Freelance work, mostly," Lisbon said cautiously. "Mostly online publications, that sort of thing."

"You been in Salt Lake long?"

She shook her head. "I just moved here from Scottsdale with my husband."

"What's your husband's name? You got a picture?" Heather asked.

Lisbon found a picture of Jane on her phone and showed it to Heather. "His name's Patrick."

"Damn," Heather said, her eyes widening. "You married _that_?"

"Most days I can't believe it, either," Lisbon said dryly.

"So why'd you move to Salt Lake? Did he get a job here or something?"

"No, we moved because of my work, actually," Lisbon said, sticking to the story she and Jane had agreed upon with Montrose and Soren. "He's a kindergarten teacher, so he can pretty much get work anywhere."

"He's that beautiful, willing to follow you wherever you go, _and_ he's good with kids?" Heather said, impressed. "Sounds like you hit the jackpot."

"Yeah," Lisbon said, her eyes drifting down to the photograph. "He's very good to me."

"You guys got any kids of your own?" Heather wanted to know.

Lisbon blushed. "Not yet. Patrick keeps talking about it, but I'd like to get settled in here before making any more big life changes," she said, gesturing around the newsroom.

"Makes sense," Heather said. She glanced at her own desk. "I guess I'd better get back to work. Just wanted to welcome you aboard, make sure you had at least one friendly face as part of your first day. If you have any questions, just holler."

"Thanks, Heather," Lisbon said sincerely.

"If you ever want to get lunch or something, just let me know," Heather tossed back, sitting down at her own desk.

Lisbon smiled. "I'd like that."

Xxx

Lisbon spent the rest of the day listening carefully to everything going on around her and working on her assignment. She introduced herself to the other staff members, since it appeared Givens wasn't going to bother to take her around himself. They were all polite, friendly, and otherwise pretty much exactly as Heather had described. Her own analysis was that Heather was the sharpest of the bunch, but was stuck at the bottom of the totem pole due to her youth and apparently, her gender.

She heeded Jane's advice about how elicit information by pretending to know more than you did, and she found she was able to gather the basic information about how the newspaper operated this way without asking too many questions that would expose her as a novice. She dutifully submitted her copy at four and spent the last hour doing a little research at her computer before packing up and heading home to Jane promptly at five.

Xxx

"And then Kirby _missed_ the deadline, when all he had to do was get a couple of quotes from the Small Business Administration and add them to the outline Givens had given him," Lisbon told Jane over dinner that night. "Can you believe that? Of all the incompetent morons. I swear I walked by his desk five times today, and every damn time he was watching YouTube videos. At work!"

Jane frowned. "Givens lets him get away with that?"

Lisbon snorted. "Givens thinks the sun shines out of Kirby's ass. I did some digging, and apparently Kirby is the nephew of some big investor type with a stake in the paper. I looked up his resume on LinkedIn, and he's completely underqualified for the job. _And _I read some of his copy, and Heather was right. His writing is total crap. I can't believe Givens gave the metro beat to him over me. Treating me like some kind of novice, giving me obits, of all things," Lisbon grumbled.

"You are a novice," Jane pointed out.

"Givens doesn't know that!" Lisbon said, indignant.

"You're right," Jane said placidly. "Sexist pig."

Lisbon scowled. "You'd better not be saying that ironically."

Jane smiled into his pasta. "Not at all, my dear."

"It's not funny!" Lisbon said. "I know this is just temporary for me, but Heather's clearly talented and she's being wasted there. Having someone like Givens in charge is toxic to the culture."

"I never said it was funny," Jane protested. "I agree with you."

"Then what are you smiling about?" Lisbon demanded, irritated by his lack of adequate sympathy.

He looked at her with soft eyes. "This. It's so…domestic. Eating together, you complaining about work. I like it."

"Oh," Lisbon said, disarmed. She thought about it. It _was_ nice, coming home to Jane. Sharing a meal together at the end of the day. She found herself caught up in gratitude again that he had invited himself along to this whole strange adventure. She thought about what it would have been like, going into that building full of strangers this morning, and returning to an empty, desolate apartment at the end of the day, instead of this cozy house with Jane cooking for her and listening to her bitch about sexism in the workplace.

She reached out and threaded her fingers through his. "Patrick," she said, her throat suddenly thick. But then words failed her. "I'm so glad you're here," she said finally, giving his hand a squeeze.

He raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "No place I'd rather be," he said, repeating his words from—God, was it less than a week ago?

She cleared her throat and fixed her eyes on her plate. "So, uh, how was your day?" she said, drawing her hand back on the pretense of picking up her knife. "You met with the administrators today, right?"

"It was fine," he said. "Mrs. Jenkins is wonderful. She's the principal. We're going to get along swimmingly. Tilghman, the vice principal, on the other hand, is your typical petty tyrant. Not to worry, though. I already have the perfect plan in mind to teach him a lesson."

"That's exactly what I was worried about," Lisbon said dryly. "Are you going to get fired your first week there?"

"Teresa, please," Jane said, very much on his dignity. "I managed to keep you, Minelli, Bertram, and Hightower from firing me for ten years. Dealing with Tilghman will be child's play."

Lisbon let it go. "Did you meet anybody else while you were there?"

He nodded. "I met a bunch of the other teachers. They seem nice enough. I think I'll get along quite well there."

Lisbon took a bite of her pasta. "Are you excited to meet the kids tomorrow?"

His eyes lit up. "I am. I read through their files, and it looks like it will be a fun group. Daisy McMillan, she's going to be my biggest troublemaker."

"You can tell that just by reading the files?" Lisbon said, amused.

"Certainly. But I'm confident I can win her over," Jane said. "I got to go look at my classroom today, and I already have some ideas about how to set it up."

"That's great, Patrick," Lisbon said. "Let me know if you want a hand with anything after hours. I can stop by and help."

"Really?" he said, pleased. "I'll take you up on that."

Later, after they'd cleaned up the dishes, Jane trapped her by the sink. "Sounds like you had a stressful day," he said, nosing his way under her hair to kiss the back of her neck.

She reached back and buried her fingers in his hair. "Meh. It wasn't so bad," she said, tilting her head to give him better access. "It's not like breaking into the good old boys club is new territory for me."

"Still," he said. "I'd like to minimize the stress in your life. What do you say? If we retire early and I whisper sweet feminist nothings in your ear, will you let me help relieve your tension?"

She turned around and kissed him. "I think that could definitely be arranged."

Xxx

The next day after work, Lisbon drove over to Jane's school to check out his classroom and help him set it up to his liking.

She found him standing on a chair, hanging a giant multi-colored…something from the ceiling. It had to have been twenty feet long, one end trailing to the ground, the other held aloft as Jane attempted to secure it to the ceiling.

"Hey," she said, amused. "Whatcha got there?"

His face lit up with a smile when he turned and saw her. "Hey, yourself. I can't believe you need to ask what this is, Teresa."

She raised her eyebrows.

"It's a papier-mâché dragon, obviously," he said, turning its head to face her so she could see its long snout, ferocious teeth, and menacing forked tongue. The effect was somewhat ruined by a decidedly cross-eyed stare from two different colored eyes. Not to mention its irregularly shaped body, tail and wings, also in all different colors. Jane gazed at it proudly. "We worked on it all afternoon."

"It's beautiful," Lisbon said indulgently. "What's his name?"

"George," Jane replied. "Doesn't he look like a George?"

"Definitely," Lisbon agreed.

Jane cocked his head. "Come help me."

She went. Through the creative use of a vast supply of paper clips and string, they finally got the thing hanging from the ceiling. Lisbon had to admit it looked pretty impressive once they finished, with the wings stretched out and the snout pointing to the classroom door so George could greet his classmates as they entered the room.

Jane hopped down from the chair and took her hand. "Come on. I'll give you the tour."

He guided her around the classroom, pointing out the sensory bins, the art table, the reading corner, listening circle, and the science and technology table.

"Science, I'll buy," Lisbon said. "I'm sure you've read enough random books and watched enough nature shows to have collected a fair amount of knowledge about science. But are you sure you're qualified to be teaching our nature's youth about technology?" she teased. "These kids probably already know more about how to use a computer than you do."

"It's not like I'm teaching programming skills to young professionals," Jane defended himself. "You don't think I have at least enough technological know how to impart some knowledge to a bunch of five year olds?"

She shot him a look.

He deflated. "I have a teaching assistant," he muttered. "She said she'd run the technology part for me."

Lisbon laughed. "Probably for the best, don't you think?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jane grumbled. "I still think computers are just a fad. They'll go out of fashion any day now."

"Said the owner of the horse and cart about the automobile," Lisbon said dryly.

Jane glared at her. "Are you going to make yourself useful, or not?" He took her hand again. "This way. I want you to help me set up the dramatic play corner."

Jane had somehow amassed a vast collection of costume elements and props in a very short period of time. When she asked, he told her he'd asked at the local theater if they had any castoffs from previous productions, and they had happily donated a number of items when he explained why he wanted them. Lisbon shook her head, amazed at Jane's ability to acquire the supplies he needed for any given situation seemingly in the blink of an eye.

"So what's this supposed to be?" she asked, helping him crumple up long sheets of brown butcher paper into long wiggly tube like shapes.

"Isn't it obvious?" He held one up to the wall. "They're trees, Teresa." He gestured expansively. "This whole area is going to be an enchanted forest."

"Uh-huh," Lisbon said, unimpressed. So far all they had was two white walls, a square of green carpet, a pile of costumes, miscellaneous fabrics, a vast supply of cardboard, and a heap of crumpled up papers.

He shook his head. "You wait. This is going to be a magnificent forest before you know it."

Lisbon decided not to question his vision. She was enjoying sitting on the floor and working with him on a project that didn't involve manipulating murderers too much to quibble about his methods.

But to her surprise, when she had draped the last of the green tulle over the entrance to the 'enchanted forest' under Jane's direction, she had to admit that the overall effect was pretty magical.

"Wow," she said, stepping back to admire their handiwork. Green leaves draped over their paper branches extended outwards, forming a forest canopy over the small space. Various paper animals peeked out from behind the trees—a fox, an owl, several squirrels, and a friendly black bear stuffing his face with berries. Instead of storing the costumes and props in something boring like a cupboard, Jane had hidden them around the whole space. He'd built in clever hidey holes into the trunks of the paper trees, underneath cardboard toadstools, and in the heads of comically large flowers all along the edge of the forest floor. "It looks amazing."

"It turned out well, didn't it?" he said, pleased. "I'm going to change the theme every few weeks. I want to do a pumpkin patch for Halloween. An ice castle in the winter."

"I can't wait to see that one," Lisbon said. She amended her statement. "Actually, I can't wait to see all of them. Can I help with the other ones, too?"

"I would love that," he said, delighted. "You really want to?"

She shrugged. "Sure. This was fun." Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for inviting me along."

He met her gaze, his eyes soft. "Anytime."

She leaned into him, enjoying the low buzz of awareness between them. An awareness that they could not only acknowledge, but actually act on now. What a novel concept. She traced her index finger down his cheek. "You didn't shave today," she observed.

He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. "No," he admitted. "I thought I might try growing a beard. You know, to complete the absent-minded professor look," he said, gesturing to his jeans and the tie now sticking out of his jacket pocket. His expression changed. "Unless you don't like it," he said, alarmed. "I won't grow it out if it's going to be too scratchy for you."

Lisbon shook her head. "I don't mind." Unexpectedly, the thought of Jane with a beard, which she'd never before considered one way or another, was actually a bit of a turn on.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I don't want to do anything that might deter you from kissing me."

Fat chance of that, she thought. "Well, I don't want to prevent you from 'properly inhabiting the role,'" she said primly.

His eyes twinkled. "You're too good to me."

"Damn right," she agreed. She gestured to the enchanted forest. "Seriously, this is really impressive. It's nice to see your predilection for arts and crafts is good for something besides catching murderers."

His face lit up. "Speaking of arts and crafts," he said eagerly. "I haven't shown you the pictures the kids drew this morning."

He dragged her back over to the art station and tasked her with helping him to tack the pictures drawn by the kids earlier that day up on the wall. She obliged him.

She picked one up, turning it this way and that, trying to guess what the intended object was. She showed it to Jane. "What's this one supposed to be?"

"That's Daisy's," he informed her. "It's a kangaroo fighting a hippopotamus."

She looked back down at the large purple blob and the vaguely triangular scribble of brown. "Of course. How did I not see it before?" She thought of the first piece of art any of her nieces and nephews had given her, a red and brown scribble presented to her with great ceremony by Annie on her fifth birthday. Tommy had later whispered to her that it was a picture of a monkey wearing a red hat. The picture still resided in pride of place on her refrigerator at home, much to the mortification of the now fourteen year old Annie. She'd implored Lisbon to take it down on her last visit, but Lisbon had refused. She loved that picture. It was held up by a magnet featuring the Chicago skyline, another favorite gift from James' kids one Christmas. A pang of sadness ran through her at the thought. She hoped Grace had thought to pack the picture and magnet away for safekeeping. Considering this, she was sure she had. Grace was thoughtful like that.

A wave of homesickness for her family and for her whole team washed over her. She touched her cross. Was Tommy staying safe in his bounty-hunting work? Were James and Stan and their families doing okay? Was Cho's back acting up again? Was Rigsby driving Van Pelt crazy constantly munching on some new snack food?

"Hey." Jane wrapped an arm around her. "You okay?"

She turned her face into his shoulder. "Yeah," she said, her voice muffled by his jacket.

"You're thinking of your family," Jane said softly. A statement, not a question.

"Yeah." She sniffled a little. "The team, too."

He kissed her hair. "I'm sorry."

She held him tighter. "I'm so glad you're here," she said fiercely. She sniffed again. "Sorry. I keep saying that."

He kissed her gently on the lips. "Yet somehow, I really never get tired of hearing it."

"Well, it's true," she said, snuggling closer to him.

He gave her a little squeeze. "Come along, my dear. Let's go home."


	17. Chapter 17

"What do you think about skiing?" Jane asked two weeks later as they strolled through a local park, eating ice cream cones. He'd dragged Lisbon out of the house, determined that they explore the city together.

Lisbon shrugged. "I like watching it when the Olympics is on."

"Ever been?"

"Nope." Lisbon finished her ice cream and eyed Jane's. He'd gotten caramel chocolate swirl. It looked really good.

"Really?" he said, disbelieving. "You grew up in Chicago. There wasn't exactly a shortage of snow."

"My family lived in the city," she reminded him. "And it's not like we had a lot of money for stuff like that."

"What about when you moved to California? Tahoe's only two hours from Sacramento."

She'd had a boyfriend once who had invited her to go skiing in Tahoe for a long weekend back when she lived in San Francisco. Her failure to turn up for this romantic getaway in favor of spending the weekend interrogating a child rapist had been one of the first death knells of the relationship. "I guess I never really had time," she hedged, hoping Jane wouldn't divine the story of the ex-boyfriend by the tone of her voice or something. He'd never let it alone if he found out. "What about you?" she said hastily, turning the topic back upon him. "You ever been?"

"No," he said. "I wanted to try it back when I was first making a lot of money as a fake psychic, but Angela wasn't interested."

"Mm," Lisbon said noncommittally. Jane mentioned Angela so rarely, she never knew how to react when he did. She was glad he felt comfortable mentioning a detail like this to her, though.

"So what do you think?" Jane said. "Want to go?"

She glanced at him. "Go where?"

He rolled his eyes. "Go skiing."

She looked at him as though aliens had taken over his body. "You want to go skiing?"

"Sure. Why not?" She watched his tongue dart out to lick his ice cream cone. "I think it'd be fun."

Only with great effort could she imagine Patrick Jane skiing. "Isn't it kind of late in the year for that?" she said dubiously. "I mean, it feels a little odd to think about skiing when we're in the park eating ice cream."

"There's still snow in the mountains," Jane pointed out. "And we're very close to the mountains. It would be easy to drive up there for a weekend getaway."

"You want to go on a weekend getaway?" Lisbon repeated. "We're in a strange town with no friends or family around. We're already away."

"Come on, it would be romantic," Jane wheedled.

"I'll go if you give me the rest of your ice cream," Lisbon said, only half kidding.

He handed her the ice cream.

She looked at the cone in her hand. "You're serious? You really want to do this?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Teresa. I really want to have a romantic weekend away with you. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes," she said, licking the ice cream. "I can't imagine you skiing."

"How hard can it be? It can be our thing."

"Our thing?"

"Yeah, you know, an activity we can enjoy together as a couple. Besides catching killers, that is."

"I guess I just figured if we had a thing like that, it would be something sedentary, like going to a jazz club or something," she said. She licked the ice cream cone again. "You know there won't be any couches on the side of the mountain, right?"

He took her hand. "Maybe we can have two things. Crazier things have happened, you know."

To be honest, she couldn't think of anything crazier off hand, but if Jane wanted to try it, she was game. "All right," she conceded. "Let's try it out."

Xxx

When they got back to the house, Montrose was there waiting for them.

"Hey." Lisbon greeted her with a smile. "How are you?"

"Fine," Montrose said curtly. She glanced around. "Let's get inside."

"Nice to see you, too," Jane said, unlocking the door and gesturing for the women to precede him inside.

Montrose waited pointedly until Jane gave up and allowed her to bring up the rear.

The three of them sat down at the dining room table. Montrose took a cookie from the plate Jane had set out. "How's everything going? Getting settled in the new jobs okay?"

"Teresa's going to take down the bureau chief and strike a blow against tyranny everywhere," Jane informed her.

Montrose looked alarmed. "What?"

Lisbon swatted him on the knee. "Don't listen to him. Everything's going fine at the paper. And Patrick's getting to know the kids in his class and hasn't pissed off any of the parents too badly yet."

"I told you, Mrs. Pratt had it coming," Jane protested.

She rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she told Montrose. "Nobody's threatened to fire him, so he hasn't done anything yet that would even register on the Patrick Jane scale of disorder and disturbance."

Montrose blinked. "Oh. Well…good."

"What about you?" Lisbon asked. "Everything going all right?"

"So far so good," Montrose replied.

"And Soren? Where's he today?"

"He's in Albuquerque," Montrose told her. "Spending the weekend with his kids. He's coming back here on Monday."

It was Lisbon's turn to blink. "Oh—but… I'm sorry—what about you? Do you live here in Salt Lake?"

Montrose shook her head. "No, I live in Albuquerque, too."

Lisbon tilted her head to the side. "But you're just up here for the weekend?"

"No, I'm staying up here until this assignment's over."

Lisbon stared. "But—you don't know when that will be. It could be months…" she trailed off, belatedly realizing that Montrose had essentially put her life on hold to protect her for the foreseeable future.

Montrose shrugged. "Part of the job."

Lisbon looked at her, distressed. "But don't you—I thought marshals usually just checked in on their assignees on a periodic basis. Don't you have other cases?"

"Not right now," Montrose said. "This is an important assignment. Soren and I talked it over and we agreed we should keep the circle tight on this one. It's just the two of us unless we need backup for something. I take the weekend shifts so he can spend time with his family, and he'll relieve me on Monday. If I need to go back to Albuquerque for a day or two, I would go then, but we thought it would be better for both of us to be up here together as much as possible, so I don't plan to make many trips back unless they can't be avoided."

Lisbon was horrified. "Doesn't it get lonely?" she blurted out. "Being up here away from everyone you know?"

Montrose shrugged. "It's fine. I'm in touch with HQ every day. And me and Soren get along. It's worth the effort to keep you safe from Scalzi's goons."

"Well, you must come over for dinner sometime," Jane broke in. "You and Soren both. You can be our old college friends or something."

"Yes," Lisbon said, seizing on the idea with relief. It was the least they could do, for the sacrifices Montrose and Soren were making for their sakes. And it would be good for her and Jane to have people to talk to besides each other once in a while, too. "Patrick's an excellent cook."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Unless that's against some ridiculous bureaucratic protector/protectee regulation or another?"

Montrose smiled. "No, that would be fine. It's not a bad idea, actually, to establish a cover so we have an excuse to check in with you more frequently."

"Excellent," Jane said, satisfied. "I'll take charge of working out the details, if you don't mind. I don't think much of the federal apparatus's ability to concoct an interesting cover."

"Suit yourself," Montrose said, amused. "Am I going to have an exotic pet like Jacinta the flamingo?"

Jane grinned. "I'll see what I can come up with."

"Any news on the case?" Lisbon asked. "Have they set a date for the trial yet?"

Montrose shook her head. "Not yet. They're keeping everything pretty close to the vest. I'll keep you posted as we find out more."

"Thanks."

"I do have something for you, though," Montrose said, reaching into her breast pocket.

"What's that?"

Montrose drew out a wad of envelopes rubber banded together and placed them on the table in front of Lisbon. "Letters from your brothers and your team."

"Really?" Lisbon seized the wad of letters and began pulling off the rubber band. "Oh, sorry—" she said, belatedly realizing she was being rather rude. She held up the handful of letters and looked at Montrose. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not," Montrose said, smiling faintly. "Please, go ahead."

Lisbon didn't need further encouragement. She tore open the first envelope and greedily read the first page—a letter from her brother James, complete with photos of his three kids. She read the one from Stan next, then one from Tommy with an enclosure from Annie. She had one from each member of the team, too. Rigsby's was mostly about Ben. She smiled over his anecdotes as well as the photo he'd included. Van Pelt's was newsy, reporting information about the lives of agents in the other units as well as their own, and an update on her family and a new Ashtanga yoga class she was taking. Cho's letter mainly summarized the status of the team's open cases and indicated he'd finished One Hundred Years of Solitude and had started reading East of Eden. Each of them told her to greet Jane for them. None of them mentioned Lorelei or Red John.

She looked up when she was finished. "The team says hi," she said to Jane, handing the letters from the team over to him so he could read them for himself.

"Excellent," Jane said, pleased. "Can I see the photos of your nieces and nephews, too?"

In the end, she gave him the letters from her brothers to read as well, consciously overriding her reflexive habit of concealing information about her family from Jane. He could use some connection with the outside world, too, she reasoned. Besides, things were different now. And Jane might consider this a positive step forward in terms of her own emotional openness towards him, an element of her behavior of which he was (probably justifiably) critical. Oh, crap, she realized. She was going to have to tell them about Jane when she wrote back. Well, about Jane and her. Or…did she, though? Rigsby, Van Pelt, and Cho _had_ been at their wedding. She grimaced. The fake wedding. That everyone treated as real. Hell. She really hadn't explained anything properly to her brothers, either. They'd gotten the whole story from Montrose and Soren. She wondered if Soren had told them about the flamingo.

She'd ask Jane for advice, she decided. He'd probably advocate for himself adding a breezy postscript announcing the whole thing in the most embarrassing terms possible. Maybe that would be for the best, though. It would no doubt be humiliating, but at least she wouldn't have to agonize over exactly what to say about the matter, she thought wryly.

She watched Jane smile over something Annie had written. The letters had all been addressed to her, she realized with a frown. He hadn't received a single letter of his own. Even the ones from the team had included merely 'hellos' to Jane rather than just directing the letters to both of them.

"Don't fret, Teresa," Jane said without looking up from the letter he was reading. "I don't feel neglected, if that's what you're worrying about."

"I wasn't worried," she denied reflexively.

Jane smiled affectionately. "Liar."

"Okay, fine, I was a little worried," she admitted, acutely conscious of Montrose's presence.

"You needn't fret," Jane repeated. "The team still hasn't entirely forgiven me for the Vegas thing. I consider it very encouraging that they included me in their letters to you at all. Definitely a sign of a warming period."

"Of course they were going to include you," Lisbon said indignantly. "You're their friend."

"Yes. But I hurt them. And I hurt you, which to them is an even more grievous offense. Besides, they're more comfortable talking to you. I imagine they'd feel a little uncertain about what to include in a letter to me."

"You mean because you might mock their turn of phrase? Classify any remotely normal piece of information as 'tedious and unimaginative?' Parse each sentence for hidden meaning so a story about a trip to the dry cleaner ends up revealing some secret truth about their inner lives?" Lisbon said sarcastically.

"Well…yes, in essence," Jane admitted. "But not to worry. When you write back, I'll include several specific questions to each of them so they'll have an idea of what to say to me. You'll see. Once I do that, they'll start addressing the letters to both of us, and you won't have to worry anymore."

"All right," Lisbon said, though she still had misgivings. The thought that Jane didn't have anyone of his own to write to troubled her deeply.

"Of course, if you and I were separated, that would be a different story entirely," Jane went on.

She frowned. "How so?"

"I'd be so heartsick and lonely that I'd feel the need to pour out endless pages of sentimental drivel so you could properly appreciate the depth of my pining for you," Jane said matter of factly.

She scowled. That was rich, considering their recent history. "We were separated for six months and you didn't write me a single word."

"That was a miserable experience I plan never to repeat," Jane said firmly. He handed the letters back to her. "Hopefully, I'll never have to be separated from you again, but if I am, you should prepare yourself for an onslaught of epistolary affection."

"Hmph," Lisbon sniffed, torn between annoyance at the still galling fact of his silence during his six month absence and a confusing mix of alarm and reassurance derived from his casual statement that he never planned to be separated from her again.

"I'd be happy to wait if you want to write any replies for me to pass along," Montrose offered.

"Thank you," Lisbon said gratefully. "That's very kind."

Accordingly, she wrote out replies to each member of her family and her team, turning them over to Jane to add his own greetings to the end of each as he saw fit. When they were finished, Lisbon handed the replies over to Montrose.

"I'll make sure they get them," Montrose assured her.

"Thanks," Lisbon said, running her fingers over the comforting texture of the letters linking her back to her real life and everyone in it. Her mind drifted over the photos of the kids, who were all getting so big. A stab of pain lanced her chest. How much bigger would they all be when she finally saw them again? She recalled herself to the conversation with Montrose with some effort. Remembering her manners, she said, "Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?"

"Another time." Montrose stood to leave. "Thank you, though."

She moved to collect the original letters from the table. Lisbon instinctively tightened her grip, not wanting to let them go.

"I'm sorry," Montrose said apologetically. "I have to take them back with me. We can't have any evidence in the house that ties you to your true identities."

"Right," Lisbon said, shamefaced. "Of course." She reluctantly handed the letters over to Montrose.

Montrose tucked them into her inside jacket pocket. "Don't worry. I'll keep them safe," she promised.

After she left, though, Lisbon was inclined to feel melancholy. Jane drew her into his arms and pressed a sweet kiss behind her ear. "Don't be sad, my dear. Just think—in your next round of letters, you'll be able to tell them all about our adventures in skiing."

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. "We'll have to get someone to take a photo of us. I think they'll have to see it to believe it." But his words had the intended effect. Imagining the look on Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt's faces if they ever saw evidence of Jane attempting to ski definitely put a smile back on her face.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Hi Mentalist friends - I hope you and your loved ones are staying safe and not going too stir-crazy in these uncertain times. Please drop the gang a line to let us know how you're doing if you can. In the meantime, here is some fic to distract you from worrying too much about the state of the world right now. Let's try to worry just the right amount and find hope and laughter where we can. Love to you all - ink.

xxx

As she settled into a routine over the next few weeks, Lisbon found, somewhat to her surprise, that she actually enjoyed working at the paper. With the exception of the malevolent Givens and the moronic Kirby, she liked her coworkers, and the work was interesting. She'd always read the news voraciously. Keeping abreast of current events frequently provided valuable context to her work as an investigator. One of her few indulgences was to spend Sunday mornings before eleven o clock mass reading the paper from cover to cover over a leisurely cup of coffee. Now she had the unlooked for opportunity to get an insider's perspective on the operations of a real news organization. And despite her resentment of the sexist way the assignment had come her way, she even enjoyed writing the obituaries. It was nice to take a moment to celebrate the treasured relationships and accomplishments of a person's life rather than focusing all her attention on the brief window of time bracketing the moment of the person's death. This experience inspired her to pitch an idea for a regular feature to Hollis and Givens for a series of profiles of people serving the community. She'd quickly realized that the obits by themselves weren't enough to keep her occupied full time. Givens didn't seem inclined to share out the work for the metro beat in a more equitable manner, so she figured pitching an original feature was her best bet. Hollis had been enthusiastic about the idea and Givens sour, but he'd grudgingly accepted the pitch without much of a fight. Taking death out of the equation entirely was a fairly radical concept for Lisbon, but she found she was quite looking forward to the prospect.

Jane, for his part, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his new job as well. He came home every night full of tales of his students' adventures, asking Lisbon her opinion about new ideas he had for lessons, and delivering his own scathing opinions about the vice principal, catty parents, and some of the more obstreperous students. Reading between the lines, Lisbon could tell that the predominantly female staff were all completely enamored with him, but that was hardly unexpected. Jane in jeans with his tweed jacket, neatly trimmed new beard, golden curls, and dazzling smile was a potent package even when he wasn't being adorable with a pack of small children.

So far, she'd adjusted to living with Jane with surprising ease. Jane liked to cook, a task she loathed, so there was little discord over household chores. She'd offered to take care of cleanup after meals, but they usually ended up doing the dishes and other chores together. She'd made half-hearted protests at first, feeling vaguely guilty that she wasn't pulling her weight. But Jane had just kissed her and insisted that acts of service was one of his 'love languages,' and besides, he liked spoiling her and kissing her neck while they did the dishes together, so she had nothing to worry about.

The other stressors that usually put pressure on their relationship were absent, too. Red John and Lorelei were temporarily out of the picture. Jane hadn't disappeared unexpectedly. His mere presence at her side throughout this ordeal represented a tremendous sacrifice that she was constantly amazed by and grateful for. Jane had also taken pains to curtail his natural penchant for making mischief, recognizing that they couldn't afford to draw any degree of unusual attention to themselves by riling up fat cats who annoyed him. Besides, he was busy with his students. Aside from a constant, low-level war with the vice principal, he didn't even seem to miss making trouble. Best of all, even if he did decide to cause mayhem, Lisbon wasn't responsible for dealing with his behavior.

And all that was aside from the amazing sex. Despite her admittedly high expectations in this area, Lisbon had not been prepared for the intensity of sex with Jane, both in terms of emotional depth and sheer frequency. She craved the man with an alarming sense of desperation, and if his behavior was anything to judge by, he felt much the same way.

"This is gonna taper off at some point, right?" she asked him once, still gasping for breath after a particularly memorable encounter in the shower. "I mean—having sex this often is not normal. No way we can keep this up indefinitely."

"Undoubtedly," he said, lowering his mouth to her neck. "We're at the tail end of the bell curve, for sure." And then he'd lifted her onto the counter and proceeded to contradict himself.

In fact, aside from missing her team and her family, only two things about their situation troubled her in any significant way. First, the knowledge that this respite was only temporary. Despite the fact that she knew rationally that the only reason they were there in the first place was because of the imminent threat from Scalzi, that threat felt abstract, removed. It didn't feel quite real. The threat from Red John, on the other hand, had infiltrated their lives like smoke, affecting every breath and clinging to their skin long after the source had drifted out of reach. But that, too, felt distant now. She still worried about her team, her brothers—but Jane thought Red John was likely to lie low until the trial, and he was usually right about things like that, so she allowed herself to breathe easier. As a result, she found herself doing as Jane suggested and thinking of this whole bizarre experience as a kind of prolonged vacation.

Eventually, though, they would have to return to their regular lives. Red John would resurface, Jane would do something crazy, and she would have to deal with the fallout yet again. She just had to remember that this—this perfect house, the jobs that didn't revolve around murder, this present and attentive Jane—this was the illusion. All the death, the constant threat to their lives, the secretive, prone-to-disappearing Jane—that was reality. As long as she remembered that, she would be—well, maybe not okay, but at least not surprised when the crash inevitably came.

This tied into her second fear. Namely, the persistent, nagging doubt about how much of Jane's newfound affection and physically demonstrative nature was part of the role he was playing.

That he was playing a role was not in doubt. The jeans, the Prius, the conscious effort to stay under the radar by restraining his natural instinct for creating mayhem…those were the obvious elements of the act supporting the persona of Patrick Meyers. But he was here. He'd left Lorelei and Red John behind to be with her. He'd given her peanut M&M's and told her he loved her. Made love to her like she was the only woman on the planet. Surely that was real?

When they were making love, everything felt real. Colors richer, whisper soft sounds amplified. Every sensation a thousand times more vivid and intense. Then, she felt certain that this—thing between them was real. That it was the most real thing she'd ever experienced.

But after—doubt crept in. Was she succumbing too deeply to the illusion?

Jane, reading some of this off her, did his best to reassure her. He tried to give her the words he thought she needed, to calm her with gentle touch. Lisbon, unable to adequately articulate the depth and nature of her fear, let him soothe her with his sweet kisses and kissed him back a little desperately on these occasions. But the cycle repeated.

Xxx

"It's out!" Jane said excitedly, setting down a plate of eggs on the table without ceremony as Lisbon shuffled into the dining room and collapsed onto one of the chairs around the dining table, still only half awake.

"What is?" she said sleepily, looking around for coffee.

Jane handed her a cup. "The first profile," he informed her. He bent and gave her a smacking kiss on the lips. "It's wonderful, Teresa. I loved every bit of it."

"You already read it?" Lisbon said, gratefully accepting the coffee and taking a long sip.

Jane nodded. "Twice." He retrieved the paper from the kitchen and presented it to her proudly. "Ta da!"

"Mm," Lisbon said around a mouthful of eggs.

"Aren't you going to read it?" Jane said, incredulous.

"I wrote it," she pointed out. "It's not like the content is going to come as a surprise to me."

Jane tsked his disapproval and sat down across from her, stealing a bite of the fruit he'd laid out on her plate. "Don't you want to see your byline?"

"My fake byline?" she said, amused. "I've already seen it on the obituaries page."

"This is different," Jane insisted, and pushed the paper towards her.

She obligingly took it up and turned to the article, a profile on a retired teacher who used to work at the public school where Jane worked. Seeing her byline beneath the title did give her a strange little thrill, after all, she realized, even though it was under the name of her alias, Teresa Meyers.

Jane snatched the paper from her. "My turn."

"You just said you already read it," she said, exasperated.

"I've only read it twice so far," he said, as though this were perfectly sound reasoning. "I propose a compromise. I'll read it aloud."

Lisbon grimaced. "Please don't."

Jane, of course, didn't listen. He proceeded to read the article aloud while she finished her eggs. Lisbon had to admit her words did show to advantage under Jane's energetic and dynamic reading. When he finished, and Lisbon was working on her fruit and her second cup of coffee, he asked her a hundred questions about the teacher she'd spoken to, wanting additional detail about the man's life that Lisbon hadn't had the leeway to explore in the article due to the restriction on the word count the editor had imposed so she wouldn't exceed her allotted column inches. Lisbon obliged him, answering his questions and adding some of her own observations that hadn't made into the final draft of the article.

Jane looked pleased as punch. "Well, this calls for a celebration, doesn't it?"

"What do you have in mind?" Lisbon said, wary, but not unwilling.

With great ceremony, he presented her with a card with a snowy mountaintop scene printed on the front. When she opened it, a printout of a reservation for an upscale resort in the mountains fell out. She read it, then looked up. "You're really serious about this skiing idea?"

"Come on," Jane urged. "It'll be fun."

She looked at the reservation. "This weekend?"

"No time to waste," Jane said. "The snow will be melted soon."

Lisbon had to acknowledge the point. "I guess we're going skiing, then."

Jane beamed. "Excellent."


	19. Chapter 19

"Ready?" Jane said, clumping awkwardly to her side in the heavy ski boots he'd just pulled on. Shockingly, Jane had not insisted in trying to ski down the slopes in his three piece suit and his old brown shoes. Instead, without telling Lisbon his intentions, he had gone out the day before and spent a small fortune on every piece of skiing gear that one could imagine. He'd had the foresight to cut off the price tags before Lisbon could see them, but at a glance she could tell he'd likely spent upwards of two grand in one go. He'd bought not only ski pants, ski jackets, ski boots, ski goggles, ski gloves, and various underlayers for the both of them, but also two sets of actual skis. Lisbon had demanded why the hell they didn't just rent the equipment like normal people until they even knew whether they wanted to ski more than once in their lives. Jane had waved her off as a naysayer and a pessimist, insisting that they'd be far more likely to have an enjoyable experience if they had the best equipment available to them from the outset.

"Ready," Lisbon confirmed, standing up from the bench where she'd sat down to put on her own boots. She picked up her skis and eyed Jane with appreciation. He looked damn good in that snowboarding jacket, and the short beard he was sporting these days only added to the look.

Recollecting herself, she shook herself free of the thought before Jane could notice and tease her mercilessly about it. But when she risked another look at him, she realized he was far too busy watching her with a similar glint of appreciation to have any attention to spare to the task of teasing her incessantly.

"If I'd known how attractive you would look all bundled up, my dear," Jane said, leaning close to peck her on the lips, "I would have skipped the lesson and kept you in the room all day so I could have you all to myself."

Lisbon kissed him back, enjoying the taste of his cool lips in the crisp mountain air. "No way," she said firmly. "You promised me we would learn to ski together. No welching on the deal now."

"I still don't understand why you insisted on the lesson. It's perfectly obvious what you need to do to get down the hill without making a fool of yourself."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. "Perfectly obvious?"

"Certainly," Jane said with great confidence. "Simple laws of physics, my dear."

Lisbon shook her head. "You can try out physics if you want, but I'll stick with the lesson, thanks."

"Well, I don't want to go by myself," Jane said, indignant. "What fun would that be? I'll take the lesson, if you insist. I just don't see why you don't let me teach you, instead."

"You said you've never skied before!"

"So? I have a keen understanding of physics and I've been watching those people over there do it," Jane said, gesturing to a group of twentysomethings who had been racing down the mountain like Olympians. "I did it with Sonny Battaglia and golf, didn't I? And there's considerably less at stake in the current instance."

"You observed him and corrected his technique," Lisbon contradicted. "You didn't actually learn to do it yourself. And anyway, swinging a stick at a ball that stays on the ground in one place is hardly the same as staying upright while you're sliding down the side of a mountain."

"Meh," Jane said dismissively.

Lisbon glared. "Are you taking the lesson with me or not?"

He sighed. "Yes, dear. I'll take the lesson, if you insist."

"Are you going to be nice to the instructor?" she demanded. "I don't want you humiliating some poor college kid for your own amusement, Jane. I guarantee they aren't getting paid enough to deal with your crap. In fact, if you piss them off, they might push you straight off the side of the mountain."

Jane protested, but Lisbon finally succeeded at extracting a promise that he would not provoke the instructor into doing him bodily harm until they were back at the bottom of the mountain where Lisbon might reasonably be equipped to defend him on level ground, so to speak.

He grumbled ungraciously throughout the lesson, making withering comments about the prospects of their fellow classmates to her under his breath. Lisbon ignored him and focused on listening to the instructor, a young woman named Jillian, advise the group on key elements to keep in mind when they were on the slopes. She walked them through the management of the equipment, the best way to dismount from the ski lift, and most importantly, how to get back up after a fall. She showed them how to snowplow with their skis to slow themselves down, and how to dig into the slopes with the edges of the skis to turn or stop completely.

Jane continued to mock while the rest of the group practiced the mechanics, not bothering to go through the drills himself. According to him, parallel turning was infinitely preferable to the wedge turn, and he had no intention of wasting his time on these remedial exercises. Lisbon diligently practiced each move and hoped none of their classmates would decide to kneecap him with their ski poles.

After an hour of instruction, Jillian declared them ready to face their first bunny hill.

"Finally," Jane said with an exaggerated eye roll.

The two of them took the chair lift together for their first run.

"Do you want me to hold your hand to help stabilize you when you get off the lift?" Jane offered.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "I think I'll be all right." Privately, she thought she'd be able to manage her balance better if she only had to worry about not tripping over her own skis, let alone running into Jane.

She felt a little nervous when the lift approached the top, worried about not being able to stop once she got off. She tensed, preparing herself.

Jane grinned at her maddeningly. "Ready?"

She gave a terse nod, her eyes focused ahead. Jillian had advised keeping her head up and picking a landmark to aim towards when they got off. "Count to three, and _then _focus on slowing down," Jillian had told the class. "Before you do anything, you want to get clear of the lift so the people behind you don't run into you."

Just get clear of the lift, Lisbon told herself. If she fell after that, at least nobody would trample her.

"Here we go!" Jane cried with glee.

Lisbon lifted the tips of her skis, took a deep breath, and pushed herself off the lift. A delighted laugh escaped her as she sailed forward, keeping her eye on a tree up ahead, then angling her legs into the wedge position Jillian had taught them to slow herself down. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she said with a grin, turning towards Jane.

But Jane wasn't there.

"Patrick?" She turned instinctively, bending her knees and coming to an abrupt halt. She looked back towards the lift.

Jane was lying in the snow directly in front of the lift, looking flummoxed. People coming off the lift scrambled to avoid him, several people managing to get around him only to fall ten feet past him. People cursed and glowered at him as they righted themselves and set off for their own runs.

"Patrick!" Lisbon made her way over to his side with some difficulty, as she had to get herself back up a slight incline to reach him. Together with the help of the staff member manning the lift, they got him back on his feet and helped him move out of the path of other skiers dismounting the chair lift.

"Are you okay?" Lisbon asked worriedly.

"Fine," Jane said, his voice clipped.

"What happened?"

"He didn't pull his skis up in time," the lift guy piped up. "Instant face plant, the minute he stepped off the lift. It's bound to happen when your skis are pointed down like that."

Jane glared at him. "Thanks for your analysis, Cliff."

The lift guy's brow crinkled in confusion. "My name's Scott."

"Ignore him," Lisbon said. "Thank you for your help, Scott."

"Anytime." Scott clapped Jane on the shoulder. "Next time, just point your toes up, 'kay buddy?"

"Yeah," Jane said, glowering.

"At least you didn't hurt yourself," Lisbon said consolingly. "No harm done, right?"

"Right," Jane said, still disgruntled.

She tilted her head. "Shall we see if we can get back down the hill on these things?"

"I suppose," Jane said, distinctly ruffled.

"C'mon," she said, giving him a nudge. "You can show me how it's done."

Jane made his way over to the edge of the hill with a somewhat ungainly shuffling maneuver. He peered down the hill, looking dubious.

"Ready?" Lisbon said, pulling her ski goggles down over her eyes and adjusting her grip on her poles.

"Of course," he scoffed, but his eyes betrayed a hint of nervousness.

"Go on, then," Lisbon said. "I'll be right behind you."

Jane took a deep breath and bent his knees. He didn't move.

"You gotta lean into it," Lisbon said helpfully.

"I'm aware of that, Teresa," Jane said with dignity. "I'm just…preparing my mind."

"To calculate the physics of the descent?" she asked, amused.

"Precisely," Jane said, nodding. "But now I have an understanding of the angle of the slope, so I should be fine."

"Ok, then. Show me what you've got, hot stuff."

Jane raised his eyebrows. "Hot stuff?"

She smirked at him. "Now you're just stalling."

Jane glared at her and looked back down the mountain. "Physics," he muttered to himself. "It's all a matter of physics." He leaned forward and started sliding slowly down the hill with a decidedly un-Jane-like noise like a hastily swallowed cry. His knees wobbled and instead of continuing downhill, he suddenly shot off to the right. Straight into a stand of trees.

"Patrick!" Lisbon didn't think. She just started after him. She headed towards him, her skis slicing through the powder as though she'd been doing this her whole life. As she approached, she turned her feet and came to a halt just before the stand of trees. "Patrick," she said breathlessly. "You okay?"

"Fine, Teresa," he said, his voice muffled by the snow. "Never better."

She made her way over to his side. "What happened to physics?"

"The laws of physics are just reliable as they ever were, Teresa," Jane said, sitting up and brushing himself off. "The trouble is that my legs didn't seem to do what I told them to do."

"Patrick, Teresa!" Jillian came sliding to a stop next to them. "Everything all right over here?"

"Just peachy," Jane grumbled.

"You took quite a tumble," Jillian observed. "Anything broken?"

"All parts present and accounted for," Jane said sourly.

"Next time, remember the pizza method," Jillian instructed him. "Make a wedge with your skis to slow yourself down."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jane said with an ill grace.

Jillian turned to Lisbon. "Teresa, you looked great!" she said approvingly. "Nice hockey stop."

"Thanks," Lisbon said, embarrassed. She looked at Jane. "You ready to try again?"

Jane looked down the mountain. "Guess there's only one way down the mountain," he muttered to himself. He stuck his poles into the snow and tried to heave himself up, only to topple back over again. He looked up at Lisbon and Jillian with a plaintive look in his eyes. "Help me up?"

Together, the two of them hauled him to his feet.

"Teresa, why don't you go on ahead?" Jillian suggested. "I'll make sure Patrick gets to the bottom safely."

"You sure?" Lisbon said, still not certain whether Jane could be trusted not to play some trick on the young woman that would cause her to shove him face first into a tree herself.

"I'll be on my best behavior," Jane said wearily, reading her mind.

"All right," Lisbon said reluctantly. "I'll see you at the bottom, then."

She set off, cautious at first. But she gained confidence as she picked up speed, and soon she found herself grinning in delight. She experimented with leaning her weight right, then left, zigzagging down the hill in smooth arcs. This—this was _amazing_. She'd never felt anything like it before. It was like flying.

She practiced slowing down, then halting from speed. Then, with reckless abandon, she let herself go. She wove around her fellow students who had started down the mountain before she and Jane had gotten started, dodging their wobbling figures with ease.

She reached the bottom and turned her feet again, coming to a stop with a satisfying 'swoosh.' Exhilarated, she turned to look for Jane.

At first, she couldn't find him as she scanned the mountainside for his blue jacket. Then she finally spotted him, still three quarters of the way up the mountain with Jillian at his side, clearly urging him along.

She hesitated, wondering if she should wait for him there. After watching him for another minute, however, she realized she'd reach him a lot faster if she took the lift back to the top and started back down again.

Accordingly, she got back on the lift. When she dismounted, she turned down the mountain and headed back towards Jane and Jillian.

"How's it going?" she asked when she pulled up beside them with another 'swoosh' of her skis.

"Well, Jillian has prevented me from making the intimate acquaintance of several more trees, so I suppose I ought to be grateful," Jane said, not sounding grateful at all.

"You're doing just fine, Patrick," Jillian said encouragingly, but privately, Lisbon thought she looked a little harried. She turned to Lisbon, her expression brightening. "You did wonderfully! How did you learn to carve like that?"

"What's carving?" Lisbon asked uncertainly.

"How you were turning, when the edge of your skis bends into the snow," Jillian explained. "You've really never had a lesson before?"

Lisbon shook her head. "First time."

"Wow," Jillian said admiringly. "You're a natural!"

"Thanks," Lisbon said, ducking her head. She looked at Jane. "You sure you're doing okay?"

"Only my pride is wounded, Teresa," he said. He nodded for her to take another run down the mountain. "Go on, enjoy yourself."

She shook her head. "I'll stick with you this time."

He grimaced. "I really don't think that's going to do much for my pride, actually."

She smiled sweetly at him. "Since when have I cared about a little thing like that?"

He sighed. "Very well."

Their progress down the mountain was torturously slow. Jane minced down the mountain like a clumsy goat, falling over what felt like every several feet. He couldn't seem to get the hang of pulling himself back up, either, needing a hand from someone already standing. Or better yet, a tree, which he was less likely to pull down with him.

"Lean into the mountain and get your feet underneath you," Lisbon encouraged him. She'd figured out the easiest way to get up after about the third time Jane had pulled her down with him. Jane shifted, trying to follow her instructions, but only succeeded in tangling his skis together. "No, like this," she said, demonstrating.

Jane finally untangled himself and managed to get himself to his feet.

"Good!" Lisbon said, smiling. "You did it."

"Is it time for hot chocolate yet?" Jane panted. "I could really go for some hot chocolate."

"You're almost there," Lisbon lied.

He just gave her a look.

They finally made it to the bottom of the mountain.

"Nice job," Jillian said. Some of her perkiness had eroded, but she made an effort to smile. "You ready for that hot chocolate now?"

"No, I think I'd better try again," Jane said with determination. "I think I understand what I was doing wrong now."

Jillian did not succeed at hiding her dismay. "Great! That's the right attitude. Right back on the horse, eh?"

"It's okay," Lisbon told her. "I'll take him back up."

"Well, all right," Jillian said, looking reluctant to set Jane loose where other skiers might end up in his path of destruction. "I do kind of need to check on my other students. Here." She pulled a whistle out of her pocket and handed it to her. "Use this if you need help from the ski patrol."

"I hardly think that will be necessary," Jane protested.

Jillian looked at Jane again and shook her head. "Stay close to him."

Jane gamely tried two more runs, each more painful than the last. When they finally reached the bottom, he shook his head in defeat. "I think I'd better give up while I can still move under my own power," he said, bending down gingerly and wincing as he unclipped his boots from his skis.

"You sure?" Lisbon said, hiding her disappointment. "I thought you were getting better on that last run."

He shook his head. "Nice try, my dear, but you're still a horrible liar. The voice," he said, gesturing to her throat. "Gives you away every time."

"Sorry," she said guiltily.

"Not to worry. I'll just find myself a nice cozy fire and a cup of hot chocolate, and I'll be right as rain."

"I'll come with you," Lisbon said, reaching back with her poles to unclip her boots as well.

"Don't be silly," Jane said. "You should go back up." He smiled wanly. "You're a natural. I want you to enjoy yourself. Don't hold back on my account."

"But this is supposed to be our romantic weekend away," Lisbon protested. "It's not very romantic if I leave you alone by the fire."

"Meh," Jane said dismissively. "I'll be fine. Go on. I know you want to."

"No, I—"

She stopped at his raised eyebrow that clearly indicated he knew she was about to lie again. "All right," she said. "If you're sure?"

He leaned in and pecked her lips. "I want you to have a good time. So go out and enjoy yourself." He winked at her. "I'll rest up for our romantic evening together."

She elbowed him in the ribs with a grin, and he almost toppled over. He righted himself and gave her another look. "Go."

She got back on the lift.

She spent a glorious afternoon flying down the slopes, even braving one of the intermediate courses towards the end of the day. She raced down it three times in succession, thrilled by the speed and the challenge.

She finally called it quits about half an hour before sunset, taking off her skis and trooping into the lodge to find Jane.

True to his word, she found him lying on a sofa next to the fire, an empty mug of hot chocolate by his side and a book on his chest.

"There you are," he said, smiling up at her. "I thought you might have decided to run away with one of the guys from the ski patrol."

She bent down and dropped a soft kiss on his lips. "Nah. I thought I'd check on you, instead." She held out a cardboard cup in his direction. "Tea?"

"Ah," he said, sitting up with a wince. "Just what the doctor ordered."

"Are you in pain?" she asked, concerned.

"No, not at all." He paused, then pointed to a spot above his right elbow. "Here."

"It hurts there?" she asked, reaching out to touch the spot gently.

"No, that's the only spot that _doesn't_ hurt."

"Poor baby."

"I'm going to need you to kiss it better," he informed her.

She raised her eyebrows. "Which part?"

"All of them."

She leaned forward and pressed another kiss to his mouth. "I think that can be arranged."

"Mm," Jane said happily. "I'm feeling better already." He took her hand and wove his fingers through hers. "You had a good time?"

"I really did," Lisbon said, smiling. "Thank you for bringing me here. Even if physics did let you down."

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "I'll trade physics for seeing you happy every time, my dear."

"Smooth talker," Lisbon said, squeezing his hand. And then she kissed him again by the fire.

Xxx

Lisbon helped Jane back to their room, discovering that he'd underplayed the amount of pain that he was in. She made him take a bath to soothe his muscles, and he harangued her until she agreed to join him. It turned out not to be much of a sacrifice on her part.

After their bath, they went back downstairs for dinner in the luxurious dining room of the lodge, surrounded by fires in open hearths all around the room. Lisbon ate ravenously, enjoying the cozy winter sweater Jane had given her for the occasion. It was a red sweater with white snowflakes. She didn't think she'd ever owned anything like this in her entire life. For the first time ever, she started to think she might be able to understand why people might like actually enjoy undercover work. She liked being a snowflake sweater wearing woman on a weekend away with her husband. She didn't think she wanted to wear a snowflake sweater all the time, but now, tonight – it was kind of thrilling, being someone she wasn't. She took another bite of her dessert and admired the sight of the firelight in Jane's golden curls.

"Would you stop looking at me like that, woman?" Jane said in mock exasperation. "I had a very trying day, you know. Besides, you already tired me out in the bathtub. I'm not sure I'm up for whatever it is you're imagining we're going to do the rest of the evening."

Lisbon licked her spoon clean of chocolate mousse and smirked at him. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

Jane, it turned out, was up for everything she imagined and more.

Xxx

Lisbon slept late the next day and found a note from Jane that she should come meet him downstairs.

She frowned at the note, having expected to find him snuggled up behind her, but despite her disappointment, she got up and got dressed in her outdoor weather gear as the note directed.

She found him at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, my dear," he greeted her with a smile. A plate of French toast sat in front of him. "I ordered you an omelette. It should be out in a minute."

"Perfect timing," Lisbon said, stealing a piece of his French toast. "How are you feeling today?"

"A bit sore," Jane said ruefully. "But I'm not giving up. I had an idea."

Lisbon cast a wary glance at him as she chewed the French toast. "What kind of idea?"

"I think we should try cross-country skiing today, instead of downhill."

She paused, intrigued by the offer. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "I traded in my downhill skis for a pair of cross country skis."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You conned someone out of their skis?"

"It was more than a fair trade," he protested. "Cross country skis are less expensive than downhill skis, and the ones I gave him were top of the line and brand new."

"What about me? Should I just try to use the downhill skis?" They couldn't be that different, could they?

Jane shook his head. "I rented you a pair."

"You didn't want to trade in the second set, too?" she said.

"You liked downhill skiing," he pointed out. "If you like cross country skiing, we'll just get you a second pair."

Lisbon sighed, wondering if Jane would ever be coaxed into something like a reasonable attitude towards money. She didn't feel optimistic about her prospects.

"So," he prodded. "Are you up for it?"

"Sure." Lisbon ate another bite of toast. "I'm game."

Xxx

After breakfast, the resort staff directed them to the trailhead for the cross country routes, and they set off.

Jane, it turned out, fared much better on the cross country skis. He still wobbled a bit when they came across any inclines, but as the descents weren't as steep and generally less than twenty-five yards long, he managed to stay upright without too much trouble.

Lisbon cast a glance at him as he caught up with her after coming down one such 'hill.' "You seem to have reconciled with physics," she remarked.

"Gravity isn't such a traitor when you're not on a slippery hillside," he said with dignity.

"Yes, that was quite the treacherous bunny hill you took on yesterday," Lisbon said with a straight face.

"If you think I'm above pelting you with a snowball for your snark, woman, think again," Jane growled.

"I'm not worried," she said, sailing ahead on the sleek white track. "You'd have to be able to catch me first. Not to mention getting yourself a snowball without toppling over."

Jane hastened to catch up.

xxx

Lisbon was captivated by the clean white beauty of the landscape. The majesty of the evergreens, resplendent in their white robes. The shh-shh sound of the skis sliding against the snow. The sun reflecting off the path before them like glittering diamonds. They glided between the trees, the muffled sound of the skis sliding against the snow a soft cadence in the hush of the forest around them. They didn't speak, caught up in the quiet exhilaration of their magical jaunt through the silent woods.

xxx

When they got back to the lodge that evening, they had an early dinner, then headed back up to the room to pack.

In the middle of folding a sweater, Lisbon abruptly put the article of clothing down on the bed and crossed to the door opening out to the private balcony. She slid open the door and stepped out onto the balcony, ignoring the crisp breeze that found its way under her collar and sent a shiver down her spine. She leaned her arms on the balcony railing and gazed out over the view of the winter sunset over the mountains.

"Teresa?" Jane called. He picked up the abandoned sweater and hurried after her. "What are you doing? You'll freeze out here without a coat."

"I'm fine," she said dismissively, still watching the sun sink down over the mountains.

Jane grunted and bundled her into the sweater without waiting for further argument. "Your hands are freezing," he tsked, taking her hands in his and rubbing them vigorously between his. "Let me grab your gloves."

She shook her head and turned her hand to grip his. "Stay."

"You really should have a coat," he fussed.

"C'mon. Just for a few minutes."

"All right," he said, reluctant.

She turned back to the sunset. "Just for a few minutes," she repeated.

He turned to watch the sunset with her. "Not that I am in any way complaining," he said a moment later, his voice light. "But is there a particular reason you're squeezing my hand so hard?"

Instantly contrite, Lisbon made a conscious effort to relax her grip. "Sorry."

He squeezed her hand back gently. "What's up?"

Lisbon kept her eyes on the sunset. "I had fun today," she said, her voice neutral.

"Me, too," Jane said.

Tentatively – "Do you—do you think we could do it again sometime?" She swallowed hard. "You know, when we…when we go home?"

Jane wrapped an arm around her. "I'd like that." He kissed her hair. "There are some great cross country skiing places around Tahoe. We could go up there for Valentine's Day, make a long weekend of it."

She looked at him sharply. "Really?" Hope and disbelief interlaced through her tone in roughly equal measures.

"Sure. I think it sounds like fun, don't you?"

She slid her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder. "Yeah," she said, her voice treacherously thick. "I do."


	20. Chapter 20

A phone rang just as they pulled into their driveway back in Salt Lake later that evening.

"Are you going to get that?" Lisbon asked as she put the car in park.

Jane frowned. "I thought it was yours."

Lisbon pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the dark screen. "No. It must be you."

"The burner," Jane said. "Where's your burner?"

It took Lisbon a moment to remember where she'd put it, but she managed to find it just before it stopped ringing. "Hello?"

"Hey, boss," Cho's brusque voice came from the other end of the line, betraying no emotion, as usual.

Emotion welled up in her chest. "Hey." She swallowed. "It's good to hear your voice." She glanced at Jane reflexively. Wordlessly, he reached over and squeezed her hand.

"You, too. Listen, there's something I need to tell you."

Lisbon instantly went on alert. "What's wrong?"

"Put him on speaker," Jane instructed.

Lisbon put the phone on speaker and set it on the dash. "We're both here. What's going on?"

"Red John killed again," Cho said. "I wanted to tell you before you see it in the papers."

Jane tensed. "Was it Lorelei?"

Lisbon watched him, worried.

"No. It was a guy named Benicio Rubin."

Jane blinked. "Who's that?"

"Low level thug. He'd done some work for Scalzi in the past."

Lisbon frowned. "Why would Red John go after one of Scalzi's guys?"

"Rubin tried to torch your apartment last night."

"My apartment?" Lisbon repeated blankly. Then realization dawned. "Oh, my God," she said in horror. "Are the tenants okay?"

"Nobody's staying there at the moment. Property owners hadn't gotten around to subletting the place yet."

Lisbon exhaled. "Thank God."

She became aware that her hand was hurting. She looked down to see Jane still had hold of it and was clutching it with a white-knuckled grip. "What happened?" he asked tersely.

"Near as we can figure, Red John had somebody staking out the place," Cho said. "When Rubin showed up with ten gallons of kerosene and a lighter, Red John's guy knocked him out and called Red John. Red John came and finished the job. He left Rubin on your doorstep and his mark on your front door."

Lisbon felt ill. "Jesus."

"Yeah," Cho said. "We think Red John killed him to send a message."

"What message?" Lisbon said, still reeling from the news.

"To mark his territory," Jane said grimly. He let Lisbon's hand go and raked his hand over his jaw.

"His territory?" Lisbon said, frowning.

Jane looked over at her, his eyes tortured. "He wanted to let Scalzi know that he's not to touch you, because Red John intends to keep you for himself."

Lisbon felt as though her mind was operating outside her body. "Oh," she said, her voice distant. Great. Two notorious killers fighting over who would get to murder her. Just what every girl dreamed of.

Jane took her hand again.

Lisbon snapped back into focus. She cleared her throat. "Any leads?" she asked crisply.

"Not yet," Cho answered. "We're working on it."

"Okay," Lisbon said. She threaded her fingers through Jane's. "Did you let Montrose and Soren know yet?"

"Not yet," Cho said. "I wanted to let you know first."

Lisbon was touched by this evidence of her team's loyalty. "You'd better call them. They shouldn't know we've been in touch."

"Yeah," Cho said. There was a brief pause. "We miss you around here, boss."

Emotion threatened to choke her. "I miss you, too." She glanced at Jane. "We both do."

"Jane's not driving you too crazy?" Cho asked, as though Jane weren't sitting right next to her.

Lisbon smiled despite herself. "The usual. But he makes up for it with baked goods now, which is a nice perk."

"Plus, Bertram isn't on your ass about him pissing off a judge or something," Cho agreed.

"Exactly."

There was another pause. "I shouldn't stay on the line," Cho said finally. "We don't know how secure these calls are."

"Yeah, of course," Lisbon said sadly. "Say hello to the team for us."

"Will do," Cho said, and hung up.

xxx

Once inside, Jane ran his hand down her back. "I'll put the ski equipment in the garage," he said quietly.

Lisbon nodded her assent, not trusting herself to speak. She turned into the bedroom and began unpacking, subdued.

When Jane came into the bedroom a few minutes later, she glanced up briefly, then returned her attention to folding the red snowflake sweater.

Jane came over to the bed and started taking his own luggage out of his bag.

"Jane…Patrick." Lisbon kept her eyes fixed on the snowflake. "Why'd you ask if it was Lorelei?"

Jane sat down heavily on the bed, abandoning the luggage. "Because he'll want to punish me for leaving," he said, his voice flat and remote.

Lisbon looked up at that. "Punish you?"

Jane nodded, his eyes distant. "He knows if he goes after Lorelei, I'll feel responsible."

Lisbon looked down at the snowflake again. "I see." She stared at the sweater for a minute, then turned her back and walked over to the closet.

"Teresa," Jane said, pained.

She put the sweater away and turned to face him.

He held out a hand towards her. Reluctantly, she walked back over to him and gave him her hand. But once he had it, he used it to pull her towards him, burying his face against the front of her shirt. "I should have known something like this would happen," he said hoarsely.

She threaded the fingers of her free hand through his golden curls and brought them to rest at the nape of his neck. "Yeah," she said glumly. "Me, too."

Jane closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her stomach. "We did the right thing, coming here."

"You think?" she said, surprised.

"Yeah. If you'd been there—" he swallowed convulsively and turned his cheek into her t-shirt, his fingers fisting into her shirt at her back to pull her closer.

They stayed like that for a minute, taking comfort from the shared closeness.

After a moment, Jane lifted his head and dashed at his eyes. "I suppose it's the best outcome to be hoped for, when you think about it," he said with false heartiness. "Red John and Scalzi killing each other's goons instead of innocent people, for once."

"I suppose," Lisbon said, unconvinced. "But Patrick—" she swallowed. "What if they do go after someone innocent next? What if he takes Lorelei after all? Or a new victim who isn't connected to any of this?"

"Lorelei's hardly innocent." He looked down. "But if he goes after someone new—I agree that would be bad." He gripped her hand. "But Teresa, we have to be prepared for that. It's not just possible, it's likely." He swallowed again. "Inevitable, even."

"What if they go after the team?" she whispered. "My family? What if they decide to punish _both_ of us for leaving?"

"Well, hopefully Scalzi's gotten the message that he's not to mess with you and yours after this," Jane said darkly. "And as for the rest—" he sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we have to trust the feds on this. They'll keep them safe."

"But what if he turns someone in the protective detail? He had O'Loughlin. What if he has more people in the FBI? In the marshals' office—?"

"I know," he said soothingly. "But think about it, Teresa. Why would he go after them now?"

"You said it yourself." She thought of Rebecca and Bosco and shuddered. "To get you back."

"It's possible," he allowed. "But I think…" he trailed off.

"You think what?" Lisbon prompted him.

He sighed again. "I think he'll want to punish me, but not—not too much."

"Not too much?" Lisbon repeated blankly. "What does that mean?"

"If he goes after the team or your family, we'd be more likely to come out of the woodwork, yes?"

"Yes," Lisbon said, knowing she wouldn't be able to stay away if someone she loved was in danger.

"And if we come out of the woodwork before the trial, there's a greater risk of Scalzi coming after you himself. Red John could task more minions to protect you, but that puts him at greater risk of exposure. Plus, that's a lot of man hours. It would be inconvenient for him to have to manage that in the long term."

Lisbon stared at him. "You really think Red John would dispatch his people to protect me from Scalzi?"

Jane shrugged helplessly. "He knows if something happened to you I'd be out of commission."

"So you still think he wants to punish you," she said slowly, still processing this. "But only a little bit?"

"He wants to punish me enough to make it difficult to stay away from California," he said. Away from Lorelei, Lisbon translated mentally. "But not enough to actually go back before the trial. Killing an innocent person would be a nice, elegant way to torture me from afar."

"Unless he gets tired of waiting and just decides to come after us here," Lisbon pointed out.

"Yes," Jane said heavily. "There is that."

"But you don't think he's going to do that," she said, hoping for reassurance on this point.

"I can't be sure," Jane said. "But as I said—I think he'd like the idea of letting us get closer to one another, but making sure we still…felt his presence. This feels like that, doesn't it?"

"Worst third wheel ever," Lisbon commented.

Jane chuckled mirthlessly. "Just so."

"So what do we do?" Lisbon whispered.

"We wait," Jane said without enthusiasm. "Coming out of hiding now would be a mistake, I'm sure of it. All we can do is bide our time until the trial. Once we get through that, we can re-evaluate our game plan."

Lisbon leaned down and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "Okay."

Jane tilted his head back and searched her face. Wordlessly, he slid back onto the bed and pulled her down with him. She went willingly, curling up against him. He locked his hands around her waist and arranged her so she was half on top of him, her head against his chest and one leg thrown over his. They lay there a long time in silence, Jane stroking her hair. The half-unpacked luggage lay strewn about them on the bed, forgotten.


	21. Chapter 21

Three weeks later, Lisbon absently doodled two stick figures on skis in the corner of her notebook as she sat at her desk with her phone pressed to her ear, waiting for the person on the other end of the line to pick up.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered on the fifth ring, a little breathless.

"Mrs. Ramseth?" Lisbon asked.

"Speaking."

"My name is Teresa Meyers. I'm a reporter with the local paper. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Meyers," Mrs. Ramseth repeated thoughtfully. "Are you the one who wrote that lovely article on Clem Greenbaum last week?"

"That's me," Lisbon said, pleased.

"Clem is a wonderful man. I've known him for many years. He's done great things for this town. It's nice to see his work recognized."

"He's an interesting guy. I really enjoyed talking to him."

"Well, I'm glad to hear Givens has finally got someone over there who knows what they're doing," Mrs. Ramseth said approvingly.

"You know Givens, too?" Lisbon asked curiously.

"You work in city government long enough, eventually you cross paths with anybody who has anything to do with anything in this town," Mrs. Ramseth said. "Now, dear, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like to interview you," Lisbon explained. "That article I wrote on Mr. Greenbaum is part of a series I'm working on about public servants in Salt Lake. When I told Mr. Greenbaum about the concept, he said I should talk to you. I'd like you to be the topic of my next article."

Mrs. Ramseth laughed in surprise. "Goodness, why would you want to write an article about me?"

"You've worked for the city for over fifty years. Broke a lot of barriers and contributed materially to some landmark developments in the city. I think our readers would find your lifetime of public service inspiring. I know I do."

"That's very kind of you to say, dear," Mrs. Ramseth said. "Very well, then. I suppose there's no harm in it. At my age, if you say something bad about me, at least I won't have to live with it long," she joked.

Lisbon laughed. "Something tells me that's not going to be an issue."

"So how does this work? I've never been interviewed by a reporter before."

"I'd like to meet with you in person. I'll bring a photographer along. You and I will sit down and chat, and then I'll write up the article for next week's feature."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Are you available this evening?"

"I'm afraid not," Mrs. Ramseth said. "I'm going to be working late on a public works contract. I can't for the life of me figure out how it could have happened, but it seems that my boss mixed up some of the paperwork and the numbers aren't adding up. I'll need a couple hours to get to the bottom of it. But I won't bore you with the details. Would tomorrow work instead?"

"That's fine. Six o clock?"

"Let's make it seven," Mrs. Ramseth decided. "If you're bringing a photographer, I want to get my hair done. Why don't we meet at Mel's Diner over on Maple? They have wonderful strawberry pie. I've been going there for years."

"Seven o clock at Mel's it is," Lisbon said. "I'm looking forward to meeting you in person, Mrs. Ramseth."

"Please, dear," Mrs. Ramseth said. "Call me Dorothy. I may be old, but I'm not as old-fashioned as I look."

"All right, then, Dorothy," Lisbon said, smiling into the phone. "If you'll call me Teresa."

"It's a deal. I'm looking forward to meeting you as well, Teresa," Dorothy said. "Something tells me we're going to be good friends."

Xxx

The following day, Lisbon took Heather over to Mel's Diner to wait for Mrs. Ramseth at the appointed time.

"So, you got any plans to go to Scottsdale anytime soon?" Heather asked once they'd settled into a booth at Mel's while Lisbon frowned at her watch. Mrs. Ramseth was late.

"Scottsdale?" Lisbon said blankly. "Why would I go to—oh." Belatedly, she remembered her cover. The one in which she had just moved here from Scottsdale, Arizona. "Er—I'm sure we'll go back to visit friends and family at some point. But probably, uh, not until the fall."

Heather frowned at her. "But what about your brother's new baby? Isn't he due in July? I thought you said you wanted to go meet him. You sounded really sad about not getting to see them as much now that you're here."

"Oh," Lisbon said, cursing herself for mixing up her real life and her cover life in the details she'd shared with Heather, who had become a good friend. Stan and Karen were expecting a new baby in July and she had been feeling blue over the prospect of missing the baptism. She must have mentioned something about it over one of their lunches together. "I do want to go meet the new baby. But I—I don't think it will be possible for us to get out there by July."

"Out there?" Heather said with a laugh. "Don't you mean 'down there?' Isn't it basically due south of here?"

"Right—well… you know what I mean," Lisbon said, flustered.

Heather scrutinized her. "Is everything okay? You seem kinda distracted."

Lisbon checked her watch again. "I'm worried about Mrs. Ramseth. She's fifteen minutes late."

Heather shrugs. "So she's an awesome old lady who can't keep track of time. Happens to the best of us."

"I guess," Lisbon said, unconvinced. "She seemed pretty sharp to me, though. She didn't strike me as the type to be late."

"Okay, well, while we're waiting, I have something I wanted to ask you."

Lisbon glanced at her, wary. "What's that?"

"I'm dying to meet Patrick," Heather said. "Do you think we could set up a double date sometime? I told Caleb some of the stories you told me about him and he wants to meet him, too."

"Sure," Lisbon said, still distracted. She checked her phone. "Mrs. Ramseth sent me a text confirming the time a half an hour before we came over here. I don't understand what could be keeping her."

"Isn't she like, eighty-five?" Heather said, impressed. "That's pretty cool that she knows how to text."

"Yeah," Lisbon said absently. "Mr. Greenbaum said she refused to retire. She's been working for the city since she was twenty-two years old."

"And you said she was instrumental in some of the city's major progressive reforms, right?" Heather said. "That's so badass."

"Yeah." Lisbon looked at her watch again. She had a bad feeling forming in the pit of her stomach. She stood up abruptly. "I'm gonna go look around."

"Look around for what?" Heather said, startled.

"I don't know," Lisbon said, antsy. "I just want to—scope things out."

"All right," Heather said dubiously. "I guess I'll scope with you."

Heather followed Lisbon out of the diner, watching her scan the street for signs of Mrs. Ramseth. Having failed to catch sight of her in the front, Lisbon walked around to the back of the restaurant. She and Heather had parked on the street in front of the diner, but there was a small parking lot behind it—maybe Mrs. Ramseth usually parked back there.

There were only two cars in the parking lot, a beat up silver Honda, and a baby blue classic Cadillac in mint condition.

"That's Mrs. Ramseth's car," Lisbon stated, looking at the empty Cadillac. A hot stone of dread sank into her stomach.

Heather glanced at her. "How can you tell?"

"Mr. Greenbaum told me about it," Lisbon said. "It was a gift from her husband." She looked around. The far side of the parking lot led to a poorly lit alley on the other side of the diner. Lisbon started towards the alley. Her hand went to her hip automatically, fumbling for a second before she remembered that she no longer carried a gun. She picked up her pace.

Heather followed. "Where are you go-?" she stopped, nearly running into Lisbon as she came to an abrupt halt.

Mrs. Ramseth lay on the cracked asphalt in the alley, her eyes wide and staring in death.

Heather covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, my God."

"Call 911," Lisbon instructed, and knelt down at Mrs. Ramseth's side. She put her fingers to Mrs. Ramseth's neck and confirmed there was no pulse, though her staring eyes were enough to tell Lisbon she was beyond saving. She looked into Mrs. Ramseth's eyes and frowned. Her eyes were bloodshot.

Lisbon looked at her more closely. The skin around Mrs. Ramseth's nose and mouth was pale, almost blue. Cyanosis? Lisbon wondered. That would suggest—

She stood and looked around for signs of a struggle. She didn't see anything in the alley, though. She walked back to the parking lot.

Mrs. Ramseth's keys were in the driver's side door.

Lisbon frowned and looked over at Heather, talking to 911 dispatch over at the entrance of the alley, twenty yards away.

She scanned the ground. Fresh tire marks led out of the parking lot, as though someone had left in a hurry. She took out her phone and took several pictures of the marks—out of habit, more than anything else.

She scoured the area, but found no more clues. She went back to Heather's side.

Heather hung up the phone, her face pale. "Ambulance will be here in ten minutes."

Lisbon nodded wordlessly. God. If only she'd thought to come out here sooner—

Heather moved towards the body.

Lisbon flung out an arm automatically to stop her. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," Heather said, startled. "Shouldn't we…I dunno. Cover her up or something?"

Lisbon shook her head. "No. You don't want to compromise the scene."

"Compromise the scene?" Heather echoed, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

"I think she was murdered," Lisbon said grimly.

"Murdered?" Heather repeated. "She's like—a thousand years old. Why would anyone want to murder her?"

"I don't know," Lisbon admitted.

Heather looked down at Mrs. Ramseth dubiously. "She could have just had a heart attack or something."

"Maybe," Lisbon said. But she doubted it. "Autopsy should be able to tell us for sure." Of course, she didn't have the authority to order autopsies anymore. Or review their results, for that matter.

Two squad cars showed up a few minutes later, about a minute before the ambulance turned up.

Lisbon approached the man who appeared to be in charge. "Hi," she said. "Are you the lead officer in this case?"

"That's me," the officer said, a burly man with the name 'Tennant' printed on his badge. "Bob Tennant. You the one who called it in?"

"Yes, me and my friend found Mrs. Ramseth in the alley," Lisbon confirmed. She showed him her press credentials. "We were supposed to meet Mrs. Ramseth for an interview."

He looked at her credentials with a weather eye. "Press, huh?" he sighed. "I mighta known I couldn't just catch an easy one for once."

Lisbon ignored this. "I noticed Mrs. Ramseth's eyes were bloodshot."

"So? Maybe she was a bit of a drinker. That's not a crime."

"And she has signs of cyanosis around her nose and mouth," Lisbon persisted.

He looked at her like she was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "Cya-what now?"

"Cyanosis," Lisbon repeated. "It's what causes the skin to turn blue when the cells are deprived of oxygen. I mention it because the bloodshot eyes and the cyanosis around the nose and mouth are signs of suffocation."

"Suffocation?" Tennant repeated. He drew himself up and wagged a finger under her nose. "This little old lady obviously died of natural causes. Don't get any ideas into your head about turning this into some crazy story to drum up fear among your readers."

Lisbon restrained the impulse to break the finger he was wagging in her face. "Do you think it's possible she was mugged?"

"She's got her wallet and her phone on her," Tennant said smugly. "No mugging."

Lisbon controlled her temper with some difficulty. "How do you explain the keys in her door, then?"

"Keys?" Tennant repeated. "What about her keys?"

Lisbon gestured to the Cadillac. "Her keys are still in the driver's side door. Why would she leave her keys in the door if she was just walking to the restaurant? For that matter, why would she come into the alley at all? There's another entrance on the side of the building that's much closer to the parking lot entrance. She came here regularly. She would have known it was faster to go that way."

Tennant turned red. "Maybe she wanted to go the scenic route. How the hell should I know?"

"Someone could have grabbed her right when she got out of the car and dragged her over to the alley so they wouldn't be seen," Lisbon said. "That would explain the keys, and why she was in the alley in the first place."

"You're writing fiction," Tennant sneered. "Leave this to the professionals, okay? We've got this."

"And there are fresh tire marks on the ground near the parking lot entrance," Lisbon continued, undeterred. "It looks like someone peeled out of here in a hurry."

"Right," Tennant sneered. "Now we're in an action movie. Because that makes for a more exciting story, doesn't it? Well, you can forget it, lady. You're not making a name for yourself off this one. It was the old lady's time, that's all."

"You're not even going to order an autopsy to be sure?" Lisbon said, incredulous. "If someone did kill her, you're going to just let them get away with it because you're too lazy to check out perfectly valid leads?"

Tennant rolled his eyes. "If I need advice from the press on how to do my job, I'll be sure to call you. O'Hara," he barked, waving to a young uniformed officer standing by the Cadillac and jotting down the license plate number.

The young woman looked up from her notebook and came over. "Yes, sir?"

"Can you please see that Ms.—"

"Meyers," Lisbon supplied. "Teresa Meyers."

Tennant waved his hand dismissively. "That Mrs. Meyers stays clear of the scene so we can let the fine people from the medical examiner's office do their work?"

"Yes, sir," O'Hara said, and tucked her fingers under Lisbon's elbow with a gentle, but firm grasp.

Lisbon submitted to being dismissed from the crime scene—because it _was_ a crime scene, she thought mulishly—with an ill grace.

"Don't mind Tennant," O'Hara said affably. "He's old school. Not so good with the warm and fuzzy side of the job."

Lisbon snorted. "Yeah, well. He's making a big mistake." She hesitated. "Listen—I know how it is when you're a beat cop. I know he's calling the shots. But for what it's worth—it looks to me like there was foul play here." She explained about the cyanosis and the keys in a low voice.

"Huh," O'Hara said, bemused. She looked at the Cadillac. "It does seem strange she would go that way when the entrance over on this side is only a few yards away."

Taking heart, Lisbon pointed out the tire marks near the parking lot entrance. "Think you could get forensics to take a few pictures of those, just to get them in the evidence log?" she asked hopefully.

O'Hara shrugged. "Can't hurt. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Lisbon said gratefully. "Look, I know you can't talk to the press about an ongoing investigation, but if there's anything I can do to help, will you please call me?" She handed O'Hara her card.

O'Hara tucked the card into her pocket. "Can't promise anything, but if something comes up, I'll let you know." She touched the tip of her hat. "Thanks for the tip."

Lisbon nodded in return and turned to Heather, hovering near the entrance to the parking lot and still looking pale. "You okay?" she asked her colleague.

Heather nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"I'm all right," Lisbon said, though her heart was heavy. She'd really been looking forward to hearing Mrs. Ramseth's stories. Now she'd never have a chance to hear her tell them.

"You were amazing," Heather said. "How'd you know all that?"

Lisbon blinked. "Know all what?"

Heather gestured vaguely. "You know, about securing the scene, and the suffocation, and everything."

"Oh. I, uh…I watch a lot of CSI," Lisbon said lamely.

Heather shook her head. "Damn. You must really be a big fan."

"Yeah," Lisbon said gloomily. "Can't get enough of it."

Xxx

The following evening, Lisbon put in a call to Salt Lake PD and asked for Officer O'Hara.

"Oh, hi," O'Hara said when Lisbon identified herself. "Listen, I talked to a friend of mine in forensics. He said you were right about the cyanosis and the bloodshot eyes being possible signs of suffocation. And he confirmed the tire marks looked fresh based on the photos I sent him. But he can't really do much unless the officer in charge sends the body for an autopsy. And Tennant has no intention of requesting an autopsy. He says it's open and shut."

"I see," Lisbon said, her heart sinking. "Thank you for your time."

"No problem. I wish I could do more. I'll let you know if something changes."

"I appreciate that," Lisbon said, and hung up.

Jane looked up from the pot of homemade spaghetti sauce he was making. "That about the Ramseth case? Any news?"

"Nothing good," Lisbon sighed, and explained the situation with Tennant and the autopsy.

"Hm," Jane said, pondering. "Is he the only one who can order the autopsy?"

"Someone from the family could request it, but it has to be properly authorized. The M.E. or a judge could authorize it, but they're unlikely to do it unless the officer in charge requests it," Lisbon explained.

"What would normally cause the police to request an autopsy?"

"Something suggesting the person died under suspicious circumstances," Lisbon said. "But I already pointed out the physical evidence, and Tennant doesn't want to hear it."

"So in this case, you'd need something that made it beyond obvious that there was foul play involved," Jane mused.

"That's about it," Lisbon said.

Jane came over to where she was sitting at the kitchen counter and kissed her temple. "I'm sorry you had to be the one to find her."

"I just kept thinking if only I'd come out earlier, maybe I could have protected her," Lisbon said, turning her face into his shoulder. "I could have stopped this from happening."

Jane rubbed comforting circles on the small of her back. "You couldn't have known."

"I suppose," Lisbon said grudgingly, lifting her head. "It's just—it's like Tennant thinks it's no big deal that she died, just because she was older. But she had such an amazing life. I spent all of today looking into her, and she did some really amazing work for the city. Had a wonderful family. After everything she's contributed to this world—she should have lived her last few years on this earth in peace. Been celebrated at the end of her life by all the people whose lives she changed while she was living. Not been cheated out of who knows how many years by this—cowardly act of violence."

"I know," Jane said. "You're absolutely right."

"I hate this," Lisbon said, clenching her fists in a fit of temper. "I hate being so powerless. If I was in charge, we'd be able to get justice for her. Instead, I'm stuck here hiding while morons like Tennant have the power to completely torpedo an investigation like this."

Jane stroked her hair. "You're not powerless, Teresa. You just might have to get used to the idea of being a bit…sneakier about the exercise of that power, that's all."

She looked up at him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I have an idea," Jane said. He stepped away from her and returned to his saucepan. "But first, we must eat."

Lisbon continued to watch him suspiciously, but she accepted her plate of pasta and ate.

Xxx

The next day, Lisbon received a call from Officer O'Hara. "Good news," O'Hara said briskly. "This conversation is off the record, okay?"

"Sure," Lisbon said. "What's the news?"

"Tennant ordered the autopsy."

"Really?" Lisbon said, amazed. "What made him change his mind?"

"He had no choice, really," O'Hara said. "We got a confession."

Lisbon blinked. "A confession? From who?"

"Well, that's the thing. We don't know," O'Hara admitted. "We got an anonymous confession sent by email to the mailbox maintained for public inquiries."

"An anonymous confession?" Lisbon repeated, frowning. "What did it say?"

O'Hara rustled some papers in the background. "Here it is. It says 'I confess. It was me. The guilt is eating me alive. If you do an autopsy, you'll see Dorothy Ramseth was murdered. Sincerely, your friendly neighborhood murderer.'"

Oh, crap. "Where was it sent from?" Lisbon asked, her fingers tightening on the phone.

More paper rustling. "The address it came from is 'iamapatheticmurderingloser .'"

Lisbon closed her eyes. "Were you able to trace it?"

"No. We pinged the IP address, but it was sent from a public library. Anybody could have sent it."

No, Lisbon thought grimly. There was really only one person who could have possibly sent that particular confession.

Xxx

Lisbon found Jane on the couch in the living room that evening, stretched out with his eyes closed. She marched over to the couch and kicked it. "'I am a pathetic murdering loser,' Patrick? Really?"

Jane opened his eyes and smiled. "How'd you know it was me?"

"I recognized your style," Lisbon grumbled.

Jane's smile widened. "You know me so well."

"What if they trace that message back to you?" she demanded. "How the hell would we explain that?"

"Oh, relax," Jane said. "They're not going to trace it back to me."

"How do you know?"

"Because I once asked Grace how to make sure an email couldn't be traced back to the sender, and she said if it was sent from a public location, it would be damn near impossible to trace."

"It was too risky, Patrick. You shouldn't have done it."

"It was a calculated risk, and it worked, didn't it? Did Tennant order the autopsy?"

"Yes," Lisbon admitted grudgingly.

Jane closed his eyes. "Well, then. Problem solved."

She looked down at him, still annoyed at him for the risk he'd taken, but also touched that he'd gone out of his way to resolve an issue she was worrying about in a way only he could. Torn between two impulses, she compromised and followed through on both. She leaned down and kissed him, then tweaked him on the nose.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Hope everyone is hanging in there during these strange times. Wishing all of you and your families peace and safety.

A/N2: Uh. This chapter is kinda evil. As are the next several chapters. If work isn't too crazy, I might try to post a little more frequently for the next few chapters. Both to keep you entertained during isolation and also not to leave you with angsty cliff-hangers too long. Though it is possible you won't thank me for the upcoming angst-fest and will instead just throw virtual tomatoes at my head for what I've done to our favorite couple. :)

xxx

"Meyers!" Givens barked across the bullpen two weeks later. He glared at Lisbon from his office doorway. "My office, now."

"Busted," Heather muttered to Lisbon under her breath.

"Hush," Lisbon said, and went into Givens' office.

Givens tossed a printout on his desk and scowled up at her from his office chair. "What the hell is this?"

Lisbon glanced at the printout, marked up with red ink. "My copy for tomorrow's edition."

"No, it isn't," he said, pointing a meaty finger at her. "Because there's no way I'm publishing this."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Is anything in there untrue?"

"That's not the point," Givens grumbled. "You've spent the last two weeks harping on this Ramseth story. Running around town, asking questions that are making people nervous."

"Isn't asking questions kind of the name of the game around here?" Lisbon asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was under the impression that was what you paid me for."

Givens scowled. "You're pissing people off. Powerful people. The police commissioner was not happy about that article you wrote last week about 'a pattern of mishandled procedures.'"

"Well, _I _wasn't happy with the way his department handles evidence," Lisbon said. "After I started digging around on this, I found a dozen more examples where officers knowingly disregarded evidence in favor of closing a case quickly. People in this town deserve to know there is an institutional failure in their police department."

Givens glared at her. "I don't give a damn. This paper can't afford to piss off the entire police department. Not to mention the mayor's office and the D.A.'s office."

"The citizens of this town can't afford to remain ignorant of the fact that the city's leadership is comfortable letting criminals go free if it keeps their case closure rate high," Lisbon countered.

"Whatever," Givens said, disgusted. "I'm not publishing this. In fact, you're benched from this whole damn story."

"You can't do that," Lisbon said, outraged. "I'm finally making real progress on her case!"

"There is no case," Givens said, incredulous.

Lisbon lifted her chin. "The autopsy report confirmed she was murdered. Everyone I talked to said she was well loved in her personal life, so she had to have been killed because of something she was working on."

"You are not a cop!" Givens said. "Leave that to the professionals. Your job is to report what they tell you."

"You think an investigative journalist's job is to shut up and swallow the party line?" Lisbon said. "We're supposed to ask the questions that nobody else is asking! And on this case, there are an awful lot of them. It's our job to make sure the public gets answers."

"I'm not arguing about this with you. You're benched from this story. You're going to rip that up—" here, he pointed at the redlined printout on his desk—"and instead of making a nuisance of yourself all over town, you're going to take Barkley with you to City Hall for the Spring Gala tonight. She's going to take some pictures of rich women in fancy dresses, and then you're gonna write about those rich women in their fancy dresses."

"You're putting me on the society page?" Lisbon said, outraged. "That is such—"

"You're going to write about those fancy dresses," Givens overrode her. "And you're going to have that copy ready for me by the end of the day tomorrow. Is that clear?"

Lisbon glared. "Yes, sir." She snatched her copy off his desk and marched back out into the bullpen, seething.

"Whoa," Heather said, taking a look at her face when she got back to her desk. "What happened?"

"Sexist bastard just stuck us with the society page," Lisbon spat out. "Of all the—" she cast a venomous glance at Givens' office door and growled several invectives in its direction.

Heather rolled her desk chair a few inches away. "No offense, but has anybody ever told you you're kinda scary when you're mad?"

Lisbon scowled. "Yes."

"Well, they were right," Heather said affably. She gestured to the redlined printout still clutched in Lisbon's hand. "What's the deal with that? If it's safe to ask, that is."

"My copy for tomorrow's edition," Lisbon said, balling it up and tossing it in the recycling bin. She sat down in her desk chair, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Givens is scrapping it. He benched me from the Ramseth story."

Heather stared at her. "Seriously? That's absurd! Our readership has been way up since you broke the story of her murder."

Lisbon shrugged. "I guess it hasn't gone up enough to make him want to risk making waves among city leadership."

"Ugh," Heather snorted in disgust. "I hate when political bullshit gets in the way of us doing our jobs."

"Tell me about it," Lisbon said darkly. "Believe me, I have been here before. It never gets easier to swallow, though."

Heather rolled her chair back over to Lisbon and nudged her shoulder. "So what's the new assignment?"

Lisbon made a face. "Covering the Spring Gala at City Hall."

"Ah. Well, at least there will be pretty dresses," Heather said cheerfully.

Lisbon shot her a withering glance. "If you try to make me have a good attitude about this, I will hurt you."

Heather put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I would never," she protested.

The corner of Lisbon's mouth twitched. "Good."

"So I guess we'd better sort out some logistics, huh? It's tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Lisbon said. She typed into the search function in her email client. "I think somebody sent around a copy of the guest list the other day."

She found the email and opened it. The message had a guest list attached, along with details about how to get into the event. Lisbon looked at the heading again. "City Hall," she said slowly.

"What about it?" Heather said absently, peering at the guest list over Lisbon's shoulder. "Hey, half of Utah Jazz is going to be there!" she said excitedly. "Maybe this won't be so bad after all."

"Dorothy Rameth's office was in City Hall," Lisbon said. She scrolled down the guest list. "James Durst is going to be at the event."

"Who the hell is James Durst?" Heather said blankly. "He's not a basketball player, is he?"

"He was Ramseth's boss," Lisbon told her. She pulled up a directory of the building. "His office is in City Hall, too."

"So what?" Heather said.

"So, you were right," Lisbon said. She sat back in her chair, the gears in her mind turning. "Maybe this won't be a waste of time after all."

xxx

Lisbon scanned the crowd and listened with half an ear as the vapid woman before her waxed eloquent on the design of her two thousand dollar dress. She half-heartedly jotted down the name of the designer while she cast her eyes around the room in search of James Durst.

"Hey," Heather hissed in her ear, clicking away with her camera at Lisbon's side. "The designer's name is Christian Lacroix. Not Christopher Lacrosse."

Lisbon looked at her blankly. "Huh?"

Heather rolled her eyes and nodded at Lisbon's notebook, where she had indeed written down the name 'Christopher Lacrosse.'

Lisbon frowned and dutifully corrected the note.

"What's with you?" Heather asked, still clicking away. "You don't mess up names. You're the most detail-oriented person I've ever met."

"It's nothing," Lisbon said absently, still scanning the crowd. Ah—there he was. She spotted James Durst speaking to an anxious looking man with dark hair and glasses in the far corner of the expansive space. "Listen, can you cover this for a while? I need to check something out."

Heather's eyes narrowed. "What are you planning?"

"I'll tell you later," Lisbon promised. "Please—can you hold down the fort for a while?"

Heather sighed. "You owe me."

"Thanks," Lisbon said gratefully. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Yeah, yeah," Heather said, shooing her away. "Be gone with you."

Lisbon wove her way through the crowd and slipped behind a convenient column to conceal herself so she could eavesdrop without alerting the two men to her presence.

"—I just want to know if we're close or not," she heard an anxious voice say as she positioned herself carefully behind the column. She surreptitiously pulled out her phone and hit the record button so she could transcribe it into her notes later if she heard anything interesting.

"Would you relax?" said a second voice in a soothing tone. "You've got nothing to worry about."

"Easy for you to say," grumbled the first voice. "You're not the one losing money every day that contract isn't signed."

"I'm telling you, Thorpe, everything is all set," said the second voice. "I've got all the paperwork on my desk upstairs." That had to be Durst. "I just need to get the new contracts person to sign off on it, and you'll have the contract in your hands by the end of the day tomorrow."

"You really think you can get the new person to sign off on it?" Thorpe asked.

"Of course. I hired him myself. He won't give us any trouble. Not like the old lady."

"I don't know," Thorpe said, still anxious. "That article that said she was murdered—aren't you worried about someone poking their nose into her files and all of this blowing back on us?"

"That has nothing to do with us," Durst said. "An unlucky coincidence."

"All I'm saying is, if someone found that memo she wrote to you, it wouldn't look good for us-" Thorpe continued.

"Nobody is going to find it," Durst said. "Who would even think to look?" She heard him clap the other man on the shoulder. "Come on, let me buy you another drink to celebrate," he urged his companion, and the two of them drifted away.

Lisbon hit stop on the recorder on her phone and stayed behind the column, her mind racing. Could this mysterious contract have something to do with the reason Dorothy Ramseth had been killed? Durst had dismissed the notion, but could he be covering up for appearance's sake? He certainly didn't seem to have any compunctions about sweeping the less savory details of whatever shady deal he'd been discussing with Thorpe under the rug.

She thought back to her first phone conversation with Mrs. Ramseth. She'd mentioned her boss submitting some paperwork with numbers that didn't add up. It sounded like she'd written a memo on the subject, as well. One that Durst was determined never to let see the light of day.

She needed to get a look at that contract.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and made her way over to the nearest fire exit. She'd made a note of Durst's office location before she'd left the office, so she knew where to go. She climbed the stairs and stole down the deserted hallway once she made it to the third floor, making as little noise as possible in the high heels she'd been forced to don for the occasion. When she reached Durst's office, though, the door was locked.

She cursed under her breath.

The devil on her shoulder piped up. The devil that had a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jane's. As a cop, she would have had to get a warrant to search Durst's office. But surely, the Jane on her shoulder reasoned, the rules of engagement were different for a member of the press? She had no power to get a warrant in her current role. After the experience of working with Salt Lake PD, she had zero hope that she'd be able to convince them to request a warrant based on her say so. She already knew they weren't exactly breaking a sweat over this case. If justice was to be served for Dorothy Ramseth, she, Lisbon, was undoubtedly the person best positioned to get it for her. Surely that meant the circumstances required a little…flexibility.

Muttering a quick prayer asking for forgiveness under her breath, she bent down to inspect the lock. It was a simple one. She didn't know how to use lock picks like Jane, but she could probably pop it open with a credit card like she'd done for her neighbors when they'd locked themselves out of their dorm room in college.

It took her longer than she would have liked, standing there exposed in the hallway when anyone could walk by—God, what if Durst decided to come back to his office for some reason?—but after struggling with the card for a few moments, she finally wiggled it in just the right way to get the door to pop open. Success! She breathed a sigh of relief and went into Durst's office, closing the door behind her.

She made a beeline for the desk and turned on the desk lamp. Lord, the man's desk was a mess. Stacks of papers everywhere. She rifled through them as quickly and methodically as possible.

Fortunately, she found a packet of contract materials with the name Thorpe on the signature line after only a few minutes of searching. Given the time constraints she was operating under, she didn't bother trying to read through it, but pulled out her phone and carefully snapped pictures of every page. It took a torturously long time.

By the time she was finished, she knew she ought to get back to the Gala. Heather would be missing her, and if she thought to ask the security team to help track Lisbon down, Lisbon would be at even greater risk of being caught than she was already. But she glanced at the door adjoining Durst's office and realized that Dorothy Ramseth's office was directly within reach. If she could find that memo, too…

She turned off the desk lamp and went over to the door and tried the knob. Unlocked. She breathed out a sigh of relief and went into the next room.

She could see signs of a new presence in the office once she'd switched on the light. A Utah Jazz pennant hung in a place that had clearly held a rectangular frame before. A diploma for Brigham Young hung in pride of place next to the desk. She looked around. The boxes on the shelf, though—she went over and inspected them. A photograph of Mrs. Ramseth with her family sat on top. Not all her stuff had been moved out yet, then.

Lisbon went through the boxes as quickly as possible, smiling sadly at some of the mementoes Mrs. Ramseth had stored from various children and grandchildren over the years. The boxes held only personal items, however—no damning evidence was to be found here.

Lisbon moved over to the filing cabinet. The top drawer appeared to have been emptied and begun to be repopulated by the office's new occupant – a single file folder hung in desolate isolation, labeled simply, 'Admin.'

The second two drawers, though, still contained Mrs. Ramseth's files. She had apparently kept paper copies of all her electronic files, each document meticulously indexed and placed precisely in its place. Lisbon pulled up the image of the cover page of the contract on her phone and found the contract name. Salt Lake City Public Works, awarded to Blackhawk, Inc. She checked Salt Lake City Public Works first, but only found the original request for proposal. She took pictures of that for good measure, keenly aware of every moment that was ticking by as she stood over this filing cabinet.

She found what she was looking for in a folder labeled 'Blackhawk, Inc.' This was the memo Durst had mentioned—it was addressed to him, and contained a detailed accounting of the discrepancies Mrs. Ramseth had noted in her review of the contract materials. It was dated the day she died.

Lisbon took photographs of this, too, her hand trembling. Then she carefully replaced the papers in their folder, shut the drawer, and switched off the light.

She breathed easier once she was back in the hallway. She took the same stairs she'd taken to get up here to make her way back to the first floor.

She nearly knocked over a couple of party-goers standing too close to the door when she opened the door to get back into the ballroom. "Sorry," she apologized, red-faced. "Looking for the ladies' room."

"It's that way, love," a kindly older man said, pointing the way.

"Thanks," Lisbon muttered, and blindly headed the way he'd indicated.

She'd almost reached the ladies' room and was about to turn right into the main part of the ballroom to look for Heather when a strong hand seized her by the wrist.

Lisbon reacted instinctively, yanking her hand away and preparing to stomp on the instep of whoever had accosted her, but the hand merely seized her wrist again, its grip intractable.

"Teresa," Agent Montrose hissed. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you."

Lisbon blinked. "I've been—never mind. It doesn't matter. What are you doing here?"

"You've been compromised," Montrose said. "I need to get you out of here."

"Compromised?" Lisbon echoed, her feet rooted to the spot. "You mean—?"

"I don't have a lot of detail," Montrose said. "I'll tell you what I can once we get out of here. For now, we need to get out of here as quickly and quietly as possible."

"Where's Jane?" Lisbon demanded. "Is he safe?"

"I don't know," Montrose said tightly. "Soren is tracking him down now. Come on, we need to get out of here."

Ignoring Montrose's attempts to shepherd her out of the ballroom, Lisbon pulled out her phone and hit number one on the speed dial. The phone went straight to voice mail. Lisbon's level of panic immediately increased tenfold.

"What happened? What have you done to find him so far?" she asked Montrose, aware that her tone was more suited to an interrogation room than their current setting.

"I promise, I'll explain as much as I can as soon as we get out of—"

"There you are, Teresa," Heather said, coming up behind them. She sounded mildly put out. "Where the hell did you disappear off to? When you asked me to cover for you, I didn't think you were going to bail on me for half the night." She stopped, glancing at Montrose. "Who's this?"

"This is my friend, Lauren," Lisbon said, Montrose's first name sitting strangely on her tongue. She twisted her hands together, desperate for more information about where Jane might have gone. If he was hurt—

Lisbon swallowed hard. "I'm really sorry, Heather, but I have to go. Something—something's happened with Patrick."

"Is everything okay?" Heather said, her eyes wide.

Lisbon shook her head. "I don't know. I'm sorry—I really have to go. I'll—I'll call you later, if I can."

"Yeah, of course," Heather said, looking worried. "I hope everything's okay."

Lisbon nodded tightly, unable to say more. What kind of trouble had Jane gotten himself into now? Had one of Scalzi's men tracked them to Salt Lake? Found their house? Lain in wait for Patrick to get home and—

Or was it Red John? Had he tired of Jane's refusal to play the game and come here to forcibly draw him back onto the board?

"Come on," Montrose said briskly, scanning the room for threats as she ushered Lisbon towards the nearest exit. Lisbon, her mind assaulted with images of Jane being hurt, tortured, all because of her, followed blindly.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: This really feels like a time when I should be posting something uplifting, but this chapter is pretty evil, too. Still more angst to come for the next several chapters, I'm afraid. I'll try to write something fluffy after this, I promise!

xxx

"What happened?" Lisbon demanded once Montrose had bundled her into the SUV she had waiting outside the building.

"We don't know a lot," Montrose warned as she pulled away from the curb. "Someone from the school called 911. The witness saw a man approach Patrick in the parking lot as he was leaving work. He grabbed him from behind and forced him into the trunk of a nearby vehicle, then drove off. When the police arrived a few minutes later, there was no sign of them."

"What did the man look like?"

"Big guy. Dark hair. Beard. Wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt. No identifying logos."

"We need to go to the scene," Lisbon said immediately. "Maybe we could talk to the witness—"

Montrose shook her head. "I need to get you to a secure location."

"But—"

"This is how it works, Teresa," Montrose said gently. "We talked about this in your orientation, remember?"

"I know, but—" Lisbon floundered. "It's _Jane_."

"I know you're worried," Montrose said. "So am I. Soren is going to do everything in his power to bring him home safely to you, okay? I promise you that. But I need to make sure we get you out of harm's way so one of these guys can't take you, too."

Lisbon's jaw tightened. She knew Montrose was just doing her job, but privately, she resolved that if she deemed it necessary to assure Jane's safety, she would ditch Montrose and go after him herself. Protecting Jane was _her_ job, dammit.

xxx

Montrose must have suspected her true intentions, however. After she had installed Lisbon in a secure hotel room, she parked herself in a chair next to the doorway as though she planned to physically restrain her charge if she made a bid for escape.

Lisbon glowered at her and paced up and down the length of the hotel room while she tried to figure out how she could track down Jane. She'd deal with Montrose once she'd determined her next move. The only trouble was, she had been pacing this room for two hours, racking her brain, and she still had no clue where to start.

"He's gonna be fine," she said aloud, trying to convince herself more than Montrose. Her heart buzzed with anxiety, as though someone had set off an old-fashioned alarm clock inside her chest that she couldn't turn off. "All the other times Jane's been kidnapped, he's always managed to talk himself out of trouble."

"All the other times he's been kidnapped?" Montrose echoed. "Is this a common occurrence?"

Lisbon brushed off the question dismissively. "Even if he couldn't talk his way out of it, he always somehow manages to trick the other person into giving him something he can use to escape. Or at least buy enough time for—" she stopped and swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence. Enough time for her to come rescue him.

But she had no resources. No badge. No team. No CBI databases. No authority to interrogate witnesses or access evidence. She still didn't even have a gun.

She stiffened her spine. None of that mattered. She was still a detective, dammit. She'd wrestle Montrose's gun away from her if she had to. She would find Jane and rescue him, just like she always did. All she had to do was figure out where to start.

"It had to be Scalzi, right?" she reasoned, thinking out loud. "Using brute force to grab him out of the parking lot, with witnesses around—that's sloppy." Not Red John's style.

Montrose blinked up at her from her position on the chair by the door. "Who else would it be?" she said blankly.

Lisbon halted, staring at Montrose in dumb horror. "Are you kidding? Red John could have sent one of his minions to take him." How could this possibility not have occurred to Montrose?

"The serial killer? Why would he do that?"

"Weren't you briefed on our backgrounds?" Lisbon asked incredulously.

Montrose shifted uncomfortably. "I know Red John killed Patrick's family and that you have worked the case together for a long time. That doesn't explain why you think Red John would have gone after Patrick now, though."

"Jane swore revenge on Red John after he killed his family," Lisbon said. "He and Red John have basically been in a messed up battle of wits for the past ten years. Red John has tremendous resources, and he has a sort of strange…attachment to Jane. My team lost the case once for a few months, and Red John had a whole team of CBI agents killed just so the CBI would be forced to give the case back to Jane."

"Oh, shit," Montrose said eloquently. She got to her feet. "I can see why you're worried. I mean—" she amended, "that we might need to look at Red John as a suspect in addition to Scalzi when it comes to Patrick's well-being." She got her phone out and started dialing. "I'll pass the intel along."

Lisbon was about to make a scathing retort when the door opened and Soren came in, looking weary.

Lisbon forgot Montrose. "Well?" she demanded, taking a step closer to Soren. "Have you found anything?"

"Nothing," Soren said, defeated. "We found a witness that identified the make and model of the car, but that's not enough to trace it. We've got a bolo out, but no hits yet."

Montrose hung up the phone. "Teresa thinks there's a possibility Red John might have taken Patrick."

Soren looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yes, _really_," Lisbon said, still incredulous. Then she stopped. Montrose and Soren obviously had some knowledge of the Red John case. But the most intimate, disturbing details of the interactions between Jane and Red John had never been the primary focus of the written reports. Jane's prolonged absence in Vegas and all his hopes for that disastrous effort—they would have no way of knowing any of the details about that, she realized. The intricate plots and crazy theories and deepest insights about the threat Red John truly posed—those had always remained between her and Jane. She was the one Jane had trusted with that information, no one else.

And he'd infected her with his paranoia about the consequences that their actions could have for her family and the team to the extent that she'd never exposed the team to the full scope of Jane's thoughts on Red John for fear of putting them in even greater danger than they were from being on the case in the first place. Let alone putting it in the case reports for her superiors. Who she'd stopped fully trusting around the time Minelli had left.

All this was besides the fact that she and Jane had been so concerned about the pervasiveness of Red John's influence that they suspected their own protectors of being in league with him. Lisbon had been so worried about Jane's theory that Montrose and Soren were agents of Red John that it had never occurred to her that they might not even be aware of the full extent of the threat he represented.

It was obviously time to rectify that. Lisbon straightened. "Call Agent Cho. He can give you a list of known associates and—"

A knock on the door cut her off mid-sentence. Montrose sprang in front of her and drew her weapon, training it on the door. Lisbon was so disarmed by the experience of someone other than her team and Jane putting themselves between her and perceived danger that she only had time to blink in surprise before Soren had his own weapon drawn and trained on the door as well.

Soren approached the door slowly and cautiously peered through the peephole. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, and lowered his gun.

He opened the door and Jane stood in the doorway. "Hello," he said, greeting Soren with a sunny smile as he stepped into the room.

"Jane!" Lisbon flew to his side, shouldering her way past Montrose and practically knocking Jane back into the hallway with the force of her embrace when she threw her arms around him.

"Hello, dearest," he said, kissing her on the temple. "Miss me?"

"Don't fish for compliments, just tell me what happened," Lisbon ordered, running her hands over his shoulders and chest, checking for damage. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt," Jane assured her, stroking her hair.

Finding no injuries, she tucked her head into his neck to hide her face, sick with relief. She knew she was holding onto him too tight, but she couldn't seem to loosen her grip.

Jane patted her on the back and cleared his throat. "I'm, ah, I'm afraid this was all a false alarm." He looked at Montrose and Soren. "Congratulations on not being evil minions, by the way. I was really pleased to learn that you weren't in league with any of the people who are trying to kill us. So mazel tov for that. Really."

"Thanks a lot," Soren said sourly.

Lisbon lifted her head, frowning. "What do you mean it was a false alarm? Montrose said a guy forced you into the trunk of a car and drove off with you."

"I hired one of those kidnapping companies to do it," Jane said sheepishly. "They did a really good job, didn't they?"

A cold, jagged sensation slid down her throat and settled in her stomach. "Kidnapping companies?" She stepped back, trying to get her bearings.

"You know, those ones bored office workers pay to pretend to kidnap them so they can experience an adrenaline rush and remember they're actually alive," Jane said.

Lisbon took another faltering step back, feeling sick and shocky. "Pretend," she repeated. The word echoed in her ears.

"You faked your kidnapping," Montrose said flatly. "Why the _fuck_ would you do something like that?"

"Why, to see if you were trustworthy, of course," Jane said. "And I must say, I'm very relieved to learn that you are. It will make things much easier from now on."

"Do you have any idea how many people we have out there looking for you?" Soren demanded.

"Meh," Jane said with a shrug. "Isn't this a good training drill for you guys?"

Montrose shook her head. "Unbelievable."

He'd faked it. The whole thing. Lisbon kicked herself inwardly. She should have known. How could she _not_ have known? It was such a typically Jane thing to do. Self-recrimination for her willful stupidity warred against the feeling of bone deep betrayal, threatening to split her in two. She walked to the other side of the room, her legs shaking. She put her hands on the windowsill to ground herself. Her hands shook, too.

Distantly, she heard Montrose dressing Jane down—not unlike the way Lisbon herself had done countless times before—but she could feel Jane's eyes on her and knew he wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to Montrose.

"Teresa?" he said tentatively. She heard him take a step towards her. Montrose and Soren, behind him, fell silent.

She turned around and faced him. "Please don't come any closer," she said, her voice tight.

He halted, looking crestfallen. "What? Why not?"

She wanted to rage at him. To hurt him. To hurt him as badly as he'd hurt her—not just tonight, but when he'd left for six months without a word, and every other time he'd let her worry needlessly over his safety for the sake of his own ego, his cleverness, or just his own agenda. To repay him in physical pain for every ounce of worry and anguish she'd felt this night and a hundred other nights. She wanted to rain blows down upon him until all the feeling left her body and she could finally be free of this choking, piercing feeling of betrayal. Above all, she wanted to feel nothing. To be empty, hollow. Anything, so long as she wouldn't have to feel like this anymore.

She took a deep breath, her whole body vibrating with so much emotion she felt as though her skeleton might come apart inside her skin. She exhaled shakily, trying to bring herself under control. "Please don't come near me," she repeated.

Behind Jane, Montrose and Soren exchanged a troubled glance. Montrose cleared her throat, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Well, uh—since this was a false alarm, I guess there's no reason you need Soren and me to stay here with you, Teresa. We've got a lot of phone calls to make to undo this mess anyway. You know how to reach us if you need anything."

"Yeah," Lisbon said, her voice still tight. "Fine."

With that, Montrose and Soren beat a hasty retreat.

Jane's eyes never left Lisbon. "Teresa—" he began as the door closed behind the exiting agents.

"How could you do this?" Her voice was hollow.

"I told you, I needed to make sure Montrose and Soren wouldn't betray us when the chips were down. It was the perfect opportunity to put them under surveillance, see who they were in contact with—"

Lisbon shook her head. "Not that. God knows I should have figured out you would have planned some kind of insane test for them, after how paranoid you've been about accepting their help in the first place."

"Then what-?"

"How could you not tell me?" Lisbon asked quietly. She felt—broken. As though a critical piece of her had fractured beyond repair. While Jane had been in Vegas, that piece had been strained, put under immense pressure. But tonight, the pressure had been too great. That piece—that central, fundamental piece—had finally cracked and broken, and she had no idea if she would ever be able to put herself back together again.

Jane shifted uncomfortably. "I—just came up with the plan today. And I knew you were going to be out late, so it seemed like a good time to put it into action—"

"You let me think someone had taken you. Scalzi, or Red John. That they were hurting you. For _hours._"

Jane winced. "I didn't think about it like that—"

She wanted to hit him again. "That's the problem, Jane. You didn't think about how your actions would affect me. You do these stupid, _dangerous_ things, and you don't think about what kind of impact they have on me."

"I just…" he fell silent, knowing he had no adequate defense.

"We had a deal," she said. "You said you wouldn't cut me out like this anymore. Not when it came to Red John."

"This had nothing to do with Red John," Jane protested.

"_How was I supposed to know that_?" she said, goaded. "Jesus, Jane. How would you have felt, if I had done that to you? If I let you think Red John had taken me. Leaving you on your own for hours, wondering what he could be doing to me."

Jane went deathly pale. "I—" he swallowed hard. "You would never do that," he finally said.

"No," she said. "I wouldn't. Because I know that it would be the cruelest thing that I could possibly do to you."

He flinched. "I'm sorry." He hung his head. "I made a mistake."

"You said you wanted something real," she continued ruthlessly. "But you don't have the first clue how that's supposed to work, do you? In a true partnership, you don't make these sorts of decisions on your own, Patrick. But you can't do that, can you? You can't give up control. You think that if I'm angry about a decision you make, that's okay, because you can always charm me into forgiving you later. But that's just another way of controlling your environment, isn't it? God, I can't believe how stupid I've been. I should have realized that a long time ago."

Jane looked genuinely alarmed. "No, Teresa, please. It's not like—"

"I'm done," she said harshly. "I'm not doing this anymore."

Jane stopped. "Not—not doing what anymore?" he said, his voice tremulous and strange.

"I'm not going to pretend that we're married anymore. That this is a real relationship." She took another deep breath. "I'm not going to pretend that you didn't hurt me more deeply tonight than anyone has ever hurt me before in my life."

Jane looked as though she had physically stricken him. "No," he croaked. "Teresa, I'm sorry. I'll do better—"

She shook her head. "It's too late, Jane." She swallowed back her own tears. "It's too late."

"Please, Teresa, let's just talk through this—"

"Don't." She took another deep breath. "Please, Jane. Can you please just—can you please leave? I—I don't want to be near you right now."

"You're not—you're not coming back to the house?" Jane said, devastated.

She gestured to the hotel room around them. "I'm going to stay here."

Jane swallowed. "All right. I can respect that. I'll just—I'll leave, okay?"

Her shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you."

"I'll call you in the morning, okay?" he said tentatively.

She gave a jerky nod. "Sure, Jane."

She was sure he could hear in her voice that she had no intention of answering his call.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: I hereby deliver more angst to you all. It gets better after this, I promise! Slowly. By degrees. Thanks to all of you for your continued support of this story. I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe.

xxx

The next several days were, in a word, awful.

Missing Jane was like nursing a broken rib. The ache was constant, but just about tolerable as long as she didn't make any sudden movements or breathe too deeply.

At the same time, she couldn't bear the thought of being around him. She shied from the idea like flinching from a hot range after being burned.

She turned to her usual coping mechanism to distract herself, burying herself in work. She spent half her time poring over the photographs of the documents she'd acquired from City Hall and the rest of her time calling around the city between her regular assignments, trying to piece the whole thing together.

Jane filled up her voicemail within two days. Then texted when she refused to answer the phone. She ignored the texts, too. She stayed holed up in the hotel, determined to avoid him at all costs.

On the fourth day, however, certain practical realities forced her to return to the house.

She purposefully waited until mid-morning to sneak out of the office so she could be assured Jane would be at work when she stopped by, but when she let herself into the front door, she caught sight of a scruffy, manic Jane pacing the living room floor.

He looked up immediately when he heard the door open. "Teresa," he breathed in relief. He crossed over to the entry hall in three long strides and caught her up in a desperate hug not unlike the one he had given her the night he'd pretended to shoot her. '_Good luck, Teresa. Love you,'_ echoed in her mind in an endless loop.

She stiffened and pulled away. "Patrick," she said, her voice clipped.

"Thank God you're back," he said, letting her go and passing a hand over his eyes in a gesture of relief. He looked awful.

"I'm not back," Lisbon said tightly. "I'm just here to pick up a few things."

His face fell. "Pick up a few things?"

"I'm going to stay in the hotel a few days longer."

He shook his head. "Teresa, no. If you're still that angry, I'll stay in the hotel. You stay here where you'll be more comfortable."

"No," she said sharply. "I don't want to be around you right now. And I don't want to be around anything that reminds me of you."

Jane flinched. "Okay," he said quietly. "That's fair."

Lisbon glanced at him, trying not to notice his unkempt appearance and the dark hollows under his eyes. "Why aren't you at work?" she asked abruptly.

Jane cringed. "Mrs. Jenkins insisted I take the week off to recover from my, erm, traumatic experience."

Lisbon nodded, biting back an acerbic comment about how his ill-thought out plan seemed to have had more far-reaching consequences than he had anticipated. She was still angry, but now that she'd had a couple days to cool off, she no longer wanted to inflict any additional pain upon him. She just didn't want to have anything to do with him. She knew that being left to spend time in his own company, unable to escape that big brain of his was a far worse punishment than anything she could have said to him, anyway.

"You go back on Monday?" she asked finally.

"Yes," Jane said, searching her face.

She looked away in an effort to avoid meeting his eyes while he stared at her so unabashedly. She glanced around and caught sight of a glittery piece of construction paper on the hall table. "What's this?" she asked, nodding in its direction.

Jane winced. "It's a 'get well soon' card from the kids to Mr. Meyers. Mrs. Jenkins dropped it off yesterday."

Lisbon nodded. More punishment via guilt, in other words. "I'd better get my stuff," she said, unable to think of anything else to say.

Jane hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah," he said, defeated.

Jane hovered in the hallway but wisely didn't attempt further conversation while she packed her things in the bedroom.

She packed on auto-pilot, arranging her clothes into a rolling suitcase neatly and efficiently. She paused only when she was about to close it, looking down and realizing that every single item in it was something Jane had bought her as part of his efforts to "replenish her wardrobe." So much for not being reminded of him. She pressed her lips into a thin line and zipped the thing closed with unnecessary force.

She brushed past Jane in the hallway and marched briskly towards the door, trying to keep her unruly emotions under control.

Jane followed her to the door and caught her by the hand before she could slip out. "Teresa," he said, hope straining through his voice despite the obvious pain in it. "You're just going back to the hotel for a few days, right? You—you will be back, won't you?"

She looked down at their joined hands and extricated herself gently, but firmly. She didn't look back at him, but kept her gaze fixed on the door for two long beats. "I don't know," she said finally.

She opened the door and left.

Xxx

Lisbon went back to the hotel that night feeling cold and brittle inside. Still broken. The hotel room was empty and desolate.

_This could have been my life for the entire time until the trial_, a voice whispered inside her head, unbidden and unwelcome. _Just me, waiting all these months by myself with this cold feeling inside._

She shoved the thought aside and sat down at the writing table by the window, pulling her laptop out to review the photographed documents once again.

She reviewed them twice more before she acknowledged to herself what she had known since she first read through them. If she wanted to take this story further, she was going to need help. She'd identified several anomalies in the banking records, but she had no way to definitively prove the contract had been purposefully mishandled without additional information.

She bit her lip, her instincts warring against the bounds of protocol. Van Pelt, she knew, could make mincemeat of these records in no time flat. With her technical skills, she would be able to trace the money to its source and demonstrate to a jury—or the reading public—that Durst had accepted a payoff to award the contract to Blackhawk. But she wasn't supposed to be in contact with her team. On the other hand, she still had that burner phone…

But she couldn't call Van Pelt. She could imagine how that conversation would go. Despite the ban on communications, Van Pelt would be chipper, excited to hear from her. She would want to know all about their lives in Salt Lake, how they were dealing with their cover identities, the people they'd met. That would be okay. But inevitably, she would ask about Jane. And at the moment, Lisbon didn't think she could answer even the most innocuous question about Jane without her voice breaking and betraying that things between them were not all right at all.

For a moment, she toyed with the idea of calling Van Pelt anyway. Van Pelt would be sympathetic, she knew. A good listener. But even if they had been back in California, she knew she wouldn't have been able to bring herself to confide in Van Pelt. Partly because she wasn't comfortable with agents who reported to her knowing that much detail about her personal life. Partly because Van Pelt was friends with Jane, too, and she didn't want to put her in the middle. But mostly because she had never learned how to talk about the deepest parts of herself to anyone. To the extent she had ever learned, it had been because Jane himself had pulled the information out of her despite any resistance she offered. But now Jane was the problem. He was her closest confidante. Without him, she was lost. At sea.

She spent a while pondering the sad state of her social life, wondering if she should make an effort to be more open with her team, trying to imagine herself doing such a thing and failing, then missing her brothers—who were even worse as confidantes than her team members, but who would at least have teased her out of her funk through sheer obnoxiousness. She thought about her nieces and nephews and wondered how tall they would be when she saw them again.

After passing much of the evening blue and miserable, she finally huffed, exasperated with her maudlin train of thought, sternly told herself to stop feeling sorry for herself, and decided to hell with protocol. She texted Van Pelt on the burner to ask her if she could help her.

Van Pelt replied immediately, sending her instructions to access an anonymous account they could use to securely exchange messages.

Once she logged onto the account using the information Van Pelt had provided her, Van Pelt barraged her with almost the exact sequence of questions Lisbon had predicted. Reading these, Lisbon smiled a little despite herself. In response to Van Pelt's question about Jane, she wrote after some deliberation, "the same as usual, only more so." Which she felt was both true and vague enough that Van Pelt wouldn't read too much into it and inquire further. She asked about the team, missing them even more than usual now that she had re-established this tenuous link with Van Pelt. Van Pelt responded with a newsy update about Cho and Rigsby, Ron and Karl, and various other people they interacted with on a routine basis. Lisbon smiled, glad to hear even these small scraps of information. _Miss you guys_, she wrote.

Then she turned to the business at hand.

She sent Van Pelt a brief summary of the chain of events surrounding Dorothy Ramseth's death as well as the audio file she'd captured of Durst talking to Thorpe and the photographs of all the documents she'd taken on her not-exactly-legal venture into Durst and Ramseth's offices.

_Give me a couple of days_, Van Pelt wrote. _I should have something for you then._

_You're the best_, Lisbon wrote back. _I owe you._

She logged off. Got ready for bed. And stared at the ceiling a long time.

Xxx

The following day, Lisbon clutched a thermos of coffee to her like a lifeline as she half-heartedly worked through yet another tedious assignment Givens had tasked her with.

"Lunch time," Heather announced, getting up from her chair and grabbing her bag. She cocked her head at Lisbon. "You want to get out of here?"

Lisbon glanced at the spreadsheet in front of her. "Definitely," she said with feeling. She got up and grabbed her things, keeping hold of the thermos.

Heather took the thermos out of her hands and examined it. "What do you have in there, vodka? No human could possibly drink that much coffee in one day."

"I'm going for a world record," Lisbon said dryly.

"Everything okay?"

Lisbon shrugged. "Haven't been sleeping well."

"Burning the midnight oil, huh?" Heather said approvingly. "I _knew_ you were still working on that Ramseth story."

"Shh!" Lisbon said, glancing around to make sure none of their colleagues could overhear. "Givens banned me from that story, remember?"

"Yeah. But you're a plucky newshound who's not afraid to go up against the man," Heather said with a grin. "You've got grit, kid."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "All right, fine. Yes, I'm still working on it."

"Thought so," Heather said smugly. She hefted the thermos. "But I'm cutting you off for now, my friend. You can resume your efforts to claim the world record after lunch."

"Deal," Lisbon agreed.

They went to their favorite lunch spot, a sandwich place around the corner. They put in their orders and snagged a table by the window. "So what's the latest?" Heather asked around a bite of her sandwich once they'd gotten their food. "On the story, I mean."

"I'm in a bit of a holding pattern at the moment," Lisbon admitted. "I asked a friend of mine to give me a hand running down some of the financial information."

"What friend is this?" Heather asked curiously.

Lisbon shifted uncomfortably. "Someone I know from my old job. She's a genius with computers."

"I haven't heard you talk much about your old job," Heather said. "I thought you did mostly freelance work before you came here, right?"

"Yeah," Lisbon said, her shoulders hunching unconsciously at the lie. "I met her through a project I was working on for a freelance article. We worked together a long time after that."

"Sounds like a good friend," Heather said. "Where is she now?"

Lisbon hesitated. "Back in Scottsdale."

"You must miss her," Heather commented.

"Yeah. There were—there were five of us that…" Lisbon trailed off. "Well—we spent a lot of time together," she said inadequately.

"Sounds like you had a good crew," Heather said.

"We were a good crew," Lisbon said wistfully. "It's been hard being away from them."

"At least you still have Patrick," Heather said bracingly. "Speaking of which, when are we going to have that double date you promised me? I'm still dying to meet him."

"Oh," Lisbon said, her face clouding over. She looked down at her sandwich, suddenly not hungry anymore. "This—this isn't really the best time."

"Why not?" Heather said. "You embarrassed for him to meet me or something? I promise, I'll be on my best behavior." She punctuated this comment by baring her spinach-laden teeth in a comical grin.

"It's not that," Lisbon said. She fiddled with her napkin. "We, uh, had a fight."

"Oh, is that all?" Heather said, relaxing. "Well, it's not like we have to plan it for tonight or anything. Why don't we just pick out a date next week so the argument has enough time to blow over?"

"It wasn't that kind of fight," Lisbon said, her discomfort palpable. "I'm—I'm staying at a hotel right now."

"Oh," Heather said, stricken. "Oh, my God, Teresa. I'm so sorry."

"S'okay," Lisbon muttered. "You couldn't have known."

"So the not sleeping well—it's not just because you're wrapped up with the story, is it?" Heather said sadly.

Lisbon bit her lip and shook her head, her throat suddenly too thick for speech.

Heather reached out and squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Teresa."

Lisbon jerked her head upwards in acknowledgment and squeezed her hand back, unable to respond in words.

"What happened?" Heather asked sympathetically. "I mean—I don't mean to pry, or anything. But if it would help to talk about it—"

Lisbon shook her head and withdrew her hand from Heather's to dash at her eyes. "It's not that. I just—I don't think I can explain properly. There's—there's a lot of history there. I'm not sure it would make much sense to someone who hadn't lived through—everything that came before." She sniffled a bit. "And well—I'm crap at talking about feelings."

"You shock and amaze me," Heather said, deadpan. "Heretofore, I've never been able to get you to stop prattling about the state of your emotions."

Lisbon threw her napkin at her and managed a wet sort of chuckle. "Shut up."

Heather watched her closely. "Do you need a place to stay? You're welcome to crash on my couch if you want. It's kinda lumpy, though. Probably murder on your back, but it's yours if you want it."

Lisbon was touched. "Thank you for the offer. I'm okay at the hotel for now, though."

"All right," Heather said. "But if you change your mind, the offer stands."

"You're a good friend, Heather," Lisbon said, her emotions threatening to get the better of her yet again. "I'm lucky to know you."

"You say that now," Heather said, taking another bite of her sandwich. "You haven't experienced a night on that couch yet."


	25. Chapter 25

Lisbon lurched through the next two days, zombie-like. She dug up additional background on the key players in the Ramseth story between assignments from Givens, piecing together as much of the puzzle as she could while she waited for Van Pelt to get back to her on the financials.

When Van Pelt finally messaged her later that week, she did not disappoint. She had traced a series of suspicious payments from an offshore account of a shell corporation owned by Blackhawk to Durst's personal account. She had also matched the timing of the three largest payments to the timing of three major contract awards Blackhawk had won in the past five years. She outlined all the steps she had taken to trace the information in her usual style of meticulous detail.

Out of curiosity, Lisbon checked the public records on the other two contracts. They had both been handled by contract officers other than Dorothy Ramseth.

Lisbon wrote up her notes, made copies of everything, then picked up the phone. "Hi," she said when the person picked up on the other end. "I've got something for you. Can we meet?"

They arranged to meet at the diner where Mrs. Ramseth had been killed.

Lisbon got there first. She ordered a slice of lemon pie and fidgeted while she waited.

"So," Officer O'Hara said, plonking herself down in the booth across from Lisbon, still in uniform. "What's this all about?"

Lisbon handed her a USB drive and passed her a file folder with printouts of everything on the flash drive. "I think I have a pretty good idea of why Dorothy Ramseth was killed."

O'Hara's eyes widened. "I'm listening."

Lisbon tapped the folder. "It's all in here. A contractor called Blackhawk, Inc. has been awarded three multimillion dollar contracts in the past five years. A guy named James Durst who works at City Hall signed off on all three awards. Dorothy Ramseth noticed a discrepancy in the books and wrote him a memo outlining her suspicions that the awards violated standard contract practices. She didn't realize he was the one who'd been cooking the books in the first place. I think she was killed to prevent anyone from finding out that Blackhawk has been bribing Durst for the past five years to get these contracts."

"You suspect Durst?"

"He's definitely on the shortlist," Lisbon said. "But personally, my money's on a guy named Thorpe."

"Who's Thorpe?"

"He works for Blackhawk. I have an audio file on there where Durst and Thorpe are talking at a party," Lisbon said, nodding at the flash drive. "Durst seems too relaxed to have just committed murder. Thorpe, on the other hand, is a nervous wreck. Very anxious to keep anyone from linking them to Dorothy Ramseth's death."

"You have a recording of a conversation between them?" O'Hara said, looking at the USB drive with wonder. "Damn. What else is on here?"

"Records from the contracting office. A memo from Dorothy Ramseth highlighting her suspicions. And a bunch of financial records linking payments to Durst to a shell corporation owned by Blackhawk."

"Shit," O'Hara said, impressed. "How the hell did you get your hands on all that?"

Lisbon's face heated. "Let's just say I got a few key pieces of information from an anonymous source." This, on the whole, seemed wiser than admitting to the police that she'd broken into a locked office in City Hall to acquire half the documents in the collection.

"Works for me," O'Hara said. "Is your source available for questioning?"

Lisbon bit her lip. "No," she said reluctantly. "But if you have any questions, I'll do my best to get the answers to you. You should have enough there to bring Durst and Thorpe in for questioning, though. I'm betting you can get Thorpe to crack pretty easily if you get the right interrogator in the room." She thought wistfully of Cho.

O'Hara squinted at her. "Are you sure you're a reporter?"

"What?" Lisbon said, startled. She straightened, defensive. "Of course I am."

"Sorry, it's just—usually the press aren't this helpful," O'Hara said apologetically. "Mind you, I'm not complaining. But won't your bosses be pissed that you aren't breaking the story before the police make a public statement about all this?"

Lisbon shook her head. "I want the person who killed Dorothy Ramseth to be caught. I have enough here to print a story on the bribery, but there's not enough here to identify her killer. And," she said, feeling the need to defend her press cred, "I'm not planning to wait to publish the corruption story. I need a little more time to write it, but I expect to break it the day after tomorrow. Should give you enough time to bring in Durst and Thorpe for questioning, as long as you don't sit on the information."

"I suppose you expect an exclusive if we get a confession out of one of them," O'Hara said.

Lisbon smiled. "I wouldn't turn one down, if you're offering."

"If this pans out, we'll definitely owe you one," O'Hara said, shaking her head. "Let me take a look at it and get back to you."

"Sounds good," Lisbon said, and took a bite of her pie.

Xxx

Lisbon headed back to the office after her evening rendezvous with O'Hara, too keyed up from her discoveries to settle down to sleep. Instead, she reviewed all the materials sent by Van Pelt again, and started writing her story.

She logged off her computer at eleven that night, tired but satisfied with her day's work. She would write the rest of the story tomorrow, then present it to Givens for publication. Even Givens wouldn't be able to dismiss the story after all the evidence she'd collected.

She went back to the hotel, her pleased half smile fading as she entered the bleak, empty room. It felt even colder than she'd remembered.

Jane would love hearing about her story, she thought wistfully. He'd been so supportive of everything she'd written, even going so far as to pin up several of his favorites on their refrigerator at home.

Home, she thought with a pang. She couldn't call it that anymore. Had that house ever had any real claim on the word? The whole marriage was a sham in the first place, she reminded herself. And the fake marriage was the least of it, she thought, twisting her origami ring on her left ring finger. Their entire relationship was built on a cracked foundation. All those lies. The broken trust. And perhaps more than anything else, all the words unsaid, accumulated over the years. A mountain of words building so slowly that she hadn't been aware of the danger they posed. That when they reached the tipping point, they would to crush her like an avalanche.

But then she thought of Jane pinning a printout of one of her articles to the fridge with that dazzling smile lighting up his eyes, and a small, sad part of her had to acknowledge that the house she'd shared with him was the closest thing she'd had to a real home in a very long time.

Depressed again, she curled up on her side of the bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.

xxx

The sound of her phone ringing woke her in the dead of night.

She fumbled for the phone on the hotel nightstand. "'Lo?" she muttered into the phone without opening her eyes.

At first, the only response was the sound of labored breathing. Then a rough, pained voice croaked, "Lisbon?"

She opened her eyes, instantly alert. "Jane?"

More ragged breathing. This time, her name was a sigh. "Lisbon."

"Jane, what's the matter? Are you hurt?" Lisbon was on her feet, fumbling in the dark for a jacket to pull on over her pajamas. She stuffed her feet into the first pair of shoes she could find and grabbed her keys.

His breathing slowly grew less ragged. "No." A long pause. "Sorry," he said finally, sounding more like himself. "I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Jane, it's okay." She was halfway out the door now, hurrying towards the hotel parking lot. "Tell me you're all right."

"'m all right." He was still fighting to get his breathing under control. "It was—it was just a nightmare." Another pause. "Sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Shh, Jane, it's okay."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I didn't mean to bother you."

The line went dead.

Lisbon swore and quickened her pace.

Xxx

Fifteen minutes later, Lisbon turned the key in the lock of the front door and let herself into the house.

Jane was seated on the floor in the hallway. His back against the wall. Knees drawn up against his chest. Head in his hands. Shoulders tense with pain. He still clutched the phone in one hand, pressed against the side of his head.

"Oh, Jane," she said sorrowfully.

He must have been really disoriented, because he looked up with bloodshot eyes, apparently surprised to see her. "Teresa?" His voice a strange mix of despair and hope, as though he couldn't believe she'd really come.

She locked the door behind her. "I'm here, Patrick." She walked over to his side and slid down the wall to sit down next to him on the hall floor.

She eased the phone out of his hand and set it on the floor. "What's going on?"

Jane's shoulders hunched even further. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said miserably.

"I was worried about you," Lisbon said softly.

"I didn't mean to worry you," Jane mumbled.

"S'okay." She tilted her head. "You want to tell me about it?"

Jane grimaced. "Not particularly."

"Was it a new one? Or one you've had before?"

"What does it matter?" he said bitterly. "It's all variations on a theme."

"Oh, Jane," she said sadly. God, she hated seeing him like this. Despite everything, she still loved him. And that was never going to change, she realized. She'd had years to stop loving him, and every excuse in the book to do so, and she'd never managed it. She might as well face facts: she was going to love him until the end of time. She hesitated, then reached out and curled her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck.

He flinched away from her touch as though afraid she were going to strike him, then relaxed as he recognized the familiar gesture, one she'd indulged in frequently since they'd gotten together. Some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

She stroked the curls at the nape of his neck again and leaned over to kiss him on the temple.

He shuddered in relief and curled into her. He clutched the front of her pajama top with one fist and buried his face in her neck as though he were trying to drown himself in her scent.

Lisbon put her arms around him and wound her fingers more deeply into the curls at the back of his neck.

"This is a fine pickle we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it?" she murmured, still stroking his hair.

He lifted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Just—we're so bound up in one another," she explained.

He looked away. "You're not bound. You could—you could be free. You could go have a real life."

This statement struck Lisbon as almost comically absurd, given the context of being on the run and waiting for the trial. "Yeah, right. What am I going to do? File for a fake divorce?"

Jane drew away, his shoulders stiffening again. "I suppose I've done a pretty good job shackling you to me," he said miserably. "At least until the trial is over, anyway." He sounded so desolate.

"Hey." Lisbon nudged him, bumping her shoulder against his. "Listen to me. I don't feel shackled, okay? But I am…bound."

Jane closed his eyes. "Will you—will you please come back?" he said hoarsely. "I'll stay in the nurs—the guest room. But if you could just—be in the house. I can't stay here by myself. The place feels haunted without you." His voice was pleading, though he made a valiant effort to pretend as though he still retained a modicum of control. Like he wasn't going to break into a thousand pieces if she said no.

Lisbon was silent for a moment, considering the weight of the request. She was still angry about what he'd done. But at the same time, she couldn't imagine going back to that hotel and not speaking to him until the end of the trial. "Yeah," she said finally. "I'll come back."

Jane's shoulders slumped in abject relief. "Thank you." He looked over at her, not daring to hope. "Will you—will you stay tonight?"

"Yes." Lisbon stood and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. Let's get some sleep."

"I'll make up the guest bed," Jane mumbled.

She looked over at him, taking in his bowed shoulders, his haggard appearance. The fathoms deep hollows under his eyes. She realized suddenly that she really couldn't comprehend what it must be like to be Jane. To be in that level of fear all the time. She thought about his face when he'd found her with that bomb strapped to her chest, his confession about his panic attacks. This latest move, as angry as it had made her, stemmed from a fundamental desire to protect her. He truly would do anything to keep her safe, whether she liked it or not. She still intended to have words with him about the manner in which he expressed that desire, there was no doubt about that. But still—to be treasured so deeply by a man like Patrick Jane…that was a tremendous gift. One she never wanted to take for granted.

She took his hand. "Patrick," she said softly. "You don't need to make up the guest room." She tugged him gently towards the bedroom. Their bedroom.

When they crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, she gave him a little shove towards the bed. Kicked off her shoes. Tossed her jacket on the chair in the corner.

She slid into bed next to him.

They lay on their backs on their respective sides of the bed, not touching. Still, something loosened inside her chest, just because he was there. She took a deep breath and absently twisted the rose ring on her right ring finger. They lay there a long time, staring at the ceiling and listening to each other breathe.


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: I forgot this one's pretty brutal on the angst front, too. I guess I will have to brace myself for an onslaught of virtual vegetables coming my way once more. Next one is maybe a tiny bit better? Maybe? Hope you are all well despite this extra helping of misery I am piling on your plates. There are happier times ahead, I promise! Hopefully on multiple fronts. But I can guarantee a happy ending here, at least. Eventually.

xxx

The next morning, Lisbon woke to find Jane watching her from his pillow.

"Hey," she muttered.

"Morning," Jane said, still watching her as though he were afraid she might disappear. "Thank you for staying last night."

Lisbon couldn't think of anything to say while he was looking at her like that besides, "You're welcome."

Jane cleared his throat. "We should probably, uh. Talk some more."

"Yeah," she said, holding his gaze.

He must have seen something in her eyes that he found encouraging, because he brightened visibly. "Can I make you some coffee?" he said hopefully.

"Yes, please," Lisbon groaned, burying her face back in the pillow. She felt like she could have slept a hundred years.

She closed her eyes, intending to sleep until Jane had finished preparing her coffee, but it was no good. Anxiety about the impending 'talk' filled her chest and kicked her brain into overdrive. Tired overdrive. She sighed and dragged herself out of bed.

After showering, she shuffled into the kitchen and accepted a piping hot cup of coffee from Jane. Jane's fingers lingered over hers as he passed the cup to her.

Lisbon shifted and subtly drew her hand away. "Thank you."

Jane's eyes dimmed.

Damn. Of course he'd noticed. But she still felt raw, exposed. She wasn't ready to accept his touch, no matter how light or casual. It had been different last night, comforting him in the dark. Today that brittle feeling had crept back in, as though the smallest gesture could cause her to shatter and break.

Jane regrouped. "You're welcome," he said, making an effort to mask his disappointment. He took a deep breath. "So about that talk—"

Lisbon's eyes strayed to the kitchen clock. "Oh, crap," she said, looking at the clock in dismay. "I'm gonna be late for work."

Jane's face fell. "Oh." He looked at the clock as though it had broken his favorite tea cup. "Tonight?"

She grimaced. "I don't think I can promise that—I'll probably be working late tonight."

"Okay," Jane said, determined. "Just let me know where and when."

"I will," she promised.

Jane's jaw tightened, as though he didn't quite believe her. "I made you a lunch," he said tentatively. "Do you want it?"

"Yes, please," she said gratefully.

Jane seemed encouraged by this. "And breakfast," he added. "It's all in the bag here," he said, gesturing to a paper sack on the counter.

"Thank you." Then, feeling this was inadequate, she added, "I'm going to stop by the hotel on my lunch hour." She cleared her throat. "You know, to check out."

Jane brightened again. "Okay," he said, his eyes shining at her. "That sounds good."

"I'm not trying to blow you off, Patrick," she said quietly. "I just—have a lot to do today. I want to have that talk with you when I don't have this other stuff distracting me."

"I understand," he assured her.

"Will you be around tonight—if I get done early, I mean?"

He looked at her with the soul inside out look. "I'll be here."

Xxx

Lisbon went to work torn between irrational elation—there was no reason to feel that happy just from having slept next to someone for a handful of hours—and lingering anxiety over the conversation yet to come.

Dammit, she thought when she sat down at her desk. She stared at her email unseeing for ten minutes. She should have blown off work and had that discussion with Jane that morning just to get it over with. But she had to be in the rundown meeting that started in five minutes or she would miss her chance to pitch her story for tomorrow's edition. After everything she'd put into this, she didn't want to give the police a chance to beat her out of the gate with a press release tailored to promote their own version of events.

She went to the meeting, determined to put Jane out of her mind. She just needed to get this story out, and then she could worry about the status of her relationship.

Luck was with her that morning—Hollis, the managing editor, was in attendance and was thrilled by the work Lisbon had done. Givens sat with his arms crossed over his chest and scowled while Hollis praised her initiative and gave her the green light for the story.

The rest of the day, Lisbon frantically wrote. She filed her first copy, then went to the police station to hang around in hopes of finding out whether the police had had any luck interrogating Durst and Thorpe. After conversations with several officers on duty, she learned to her satisfaction that the police had brought both men in for questioning that afternoon. However, the officers were frustratingly tight-lipped about the progress made in the course of the interrogations. Lisbon went back to the office and wrote some more.

She got back to the house around ten that night. Jane was waiting up for her.

"Hey," she said wearily, dumping the bag she'd retrieved from the hotel earlier by the door.

"Hey, yourself," he greeted her. "Did you get a chance to eat earlier?"

She bit her lip. "No," she admitted, half-guilty and defensive for no reason. Jane always scolded her for forgetting to eat.

"Leftovers in the fridge if you want them," he said simply.

She blew out a breath. "Thanks."

She went into the kitchen and found a plate of lasagna and green beans waiting for her. She put them in the microwave.

Jane followed her into the kitchen. "So I take it you've made progress on the Ramseth story?"

"How did you—" Lisbon stopped and shook her head. Of course Jane would have figured out what had her so preoccupied. "Yes. The first article comes out tomorrow."

Jane raised his eyebrows. "The first article?"

Lisbon explained about the corruption angle and her suspicions about Durst and Thorpe while she ate. It was a blessed relief, talking to Jane about murder. Everything had been so much easier when their conversations had primarily revolved around killers and death.

Lisbon remembered the avalanche of things unsaid and acknowledged to herself that was a lie. The not saying things had its own price.

"Do you still want to talk?" she said abruptly. "I mean, about—" she gestured between the two of them.

Jane looked at her closely. "You're not too tired?"

Lisbon shook her head. "No. I mean, I am tired. But I want to get this over with."

Jane winced.

"I mean," she said, correcting herself hastily. "I don't think I'll be able to rest properly until we have this conversation."

Jane took her empty plate and put it into the sink. "Very well." He fiddled with the silverware unnecessarily for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I was planning."

Lisbon sighed. "Yeah, well, that doesn't do me a lot of good, Patrick, unless I know you're not going to pull something like that again."

"I won't," Jane said immediately.

Lisbon pinched the bridge of her nose. "How am I supposed to believe that?" she asked quietly. "You've done the exact same thing to me a thousand times."

Jane looked down. "I'll do better."

This was taking them in circles. "So despite you lying to me on a daily basis for ten years, now I should believe you? What sane person would take that bet?"

He cringed. "I made a mistake. I wasn't thinking."

"You were thinking," she said sharply. "You were thinking that everyone around you is a chess piece, there for you to move around at will."

"I wasn't thinking that—" he protested.

"You were," she argued. "You weren't thinking about the pieces on the board, you were only thinking about how you could move the pieces to bring about the outcome you wanted. And there's no need to tell a pawn where you're moving it, or why, is there? It only exists to serve your broader purpose."

"I don't think of you as a pawn, Teresa," he said sharply. "You know I don't."

"No? You could have fooled me. I suppose it would be terribly inconvenient for you if one of your pawns pointed out a flaw in your plan. If that pawn objected to being moved about without any say in the matter. If that pawn actually stood up to you and resisted going along with one of your insane schemes because someone might get hurt."

"It's not like that," he said angrily. "I made one mistake—"

"_One_ mistake?" She laughed bitterly. "There were an awful lot of straws that came before the one that broke the camel's back, Patrick."

He recoiled in alarm and backtracked hastily. "Okay, yes, I've made a lot of mistakes—"

"But you never learn from them!" she said, goaded. "You just keep doing the same damn thing over and over."

"I won't," he said desperately. "I won't do anything like that ever again. You have my word."

"Your word? What is that supposed to be worth to me, after all the lies you've told me? After all the times you've left me to deal with the fallout of one of your plans while you skipped happily off to the sunset? God, you're so secretive and controlling! Are you even capable of behaving like a normal human being?"

Jane's shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right," he said, his voice hollow. "I don't know how to be a normal human being."

"You broke my trust, Jane. And I feel like—" she broke off, unable to express in words the level of torture she was going through, torn between the depth of her feelings for him and the hopeless conviction that he would never stop hurting her through his need to control his surroundings. She dashed at her eyes. "I love you so damn much," she said miserably. "But I just can't keep going through this. You—do you have the faintest idea how worried I was for you when you were in Vegas? And then to find out that you were _pretending_, the whole time. That in six long months, you couldn't take thirty seconds to let me know you were okay? And then now—after everything we talked about—that you would let me think Scalzi or Red John had taken you, because you didn't bother to think about what your clever stunt with the fake kidnapping would do to me? Do you have any idea what it's like to love someone so much and be so completely unable to trust them?"

"No," he said miserably. "I have no idea. I've never loved anyone I couldn't trust." He said quietly, "I know you have no reason to believe in me, after all the times I've lied to you in the past. I know I have to earn your trust. I don't expect it to happen overnight. But if you'll let me—I'll earn it back, Teresa. Day by day. One day at a time." He raised his head. "I'll fix it," he said desperately. "Just tell me what to do and I'll fix it."

"That's the thing, Jane." She looked down, equally miserable. "I don't know if there's a way to fix it."


	27. Chapter 27

In the end, the talk resolved nothing. They both went to bed tense and unhappy. They passed the night on their respective sides of the bed, each painfully careful not to touch the other.

The following morning they moved around each other gingerly. It was so unlike them Lisbon felt like she was sharing a house with a stranger.

Escaping to the office was a relief. Lisbon looked forward to having a few moments to collect herself after the difficult interactions with Jane when she got to her desk, but she didn't make it that far. Albers and Nightingale assailed her before she could sit down, clapping her on the shoulder and congratulating her on her article. The rest of the staff (excepting Givens, of course) gave her much the same treatment, demanding that she tell them the story of how she'd landed such a big scoop. By the time she managed to extricate herself, over half an hour had passed since she'd arrived at the office.

She sat down at her computer, opened her email, and blinked. Then looked at the phone and blinked twice more. She'd received over a thousand emails and two dozen phone messages before nine-thirty am.

"Looks like the article is a hit," Heather commented, her voice unusually close.

Lisbon turned her head to find Heather peering over her shoulder at the list of unread messages. "Nosy," she said affectionately.

"I'm in the newspaper business," Heather said, straightening with assumed dignity. "It's my job to be nosy."

"Uh-huh," Lisbon said, smirking.

"You're one to talk," Heather said, unrepentant. "Didn't you crack this story by eavesdropping?"

"Hey, don't go giving away all my trade secrets," Lisbon said.

"Hennessy said your article got more hits this morning than the total for whole paper gotten in the last two months," Heather informed her. "And that's just from the last few hours. I bet this is going to give us a boost in subscribers, too."

"You think so?" Lisbon said, pleased.

"I sure hope so," Heather said. "I'm planning to ride your coattails to success here, so it's certainly the outcome I'm hoping for. You're going to be able to hold this over Givens for _years_. I'm hoping to profit by associated leverage."

Lisbon's smile faded. "Right," she said without enthusiasm. She wasn't going to be here to hold this over Givens for years. She was going to be gone from here in a matter of months, if not sooner. She looked at Heather unhappily. She would really miss her when she went back to her old life.

Heather looked at her oddly. "What?"

"Have you ever been to California?" Lisbon blurted out suddenly.

Heather frowned. "California? Sure. Got some cousins in L.A. That place gives me the creeps, though. Everyone's so wrapped up in their tans they can't fit anything of substance in their brains."

"Not all of California's like that," Lisbon protested. "Northern California's nice."

Heather raised an eyebrow. "Why are we talking about California?"

Lisbon cut her eyes away. "No reason."

Heather's eyes narrowed. "Did you find something for the next part of your series that requires a road trip to the Golden State? Because I would _so_ be down for that."

"Nothing like that," Lisbon muttered, cursing herself for bringing up the subject in the first place.

"Maybe you and Patrick should go there," Heather suggested.

Lisbon jerked her head up. "Why would we do that?" she said sharply. For one wild moment, she wondered if Red John could have sent this smart, kind young woman to befriend her as one of his twisted gifts.

"It could be good for you guys to get away for a while," Heather said, oblivious to Lisbon's brief sojourn into paranoia. "Sort out some of your issues."

Lisbon hid her sigh of relief. "I don't think geography is going to solve this one," she said sadly.

Heather leaned against Lisbon's desk and lowered her voice. "Have you talked to him?"

Lisbon hesitated. "I'm—I'm back at the house."

Heather brightened. "Really? That's great." Looking at Lisbon's face, she stopped. "Isn't it?" she said uncertainly.

Lisbon bit her lip. "I don't know," she admitted. "We talked last night, but it didn't really solve anything."

"You guys are gonna work it out," Heather said confidently. "I know it. You're the real thing. True love, and all that."

Lisbon looked at her, exasperated. "How do you know? You haven't even met Patrick."

"Just—the look you get in your eyes when you talk about him," Heather said, gesturing at her vaguely.

Lisbon blushed. "Oh." God, was she really that transparent?

Something told her she'd be better off not thinking too deeply about the answer to that.

Xxx

Lisbon spent most of the rest of the day at the police station. Her diligence was rewarded when O'Hara quietly slipped her in to speak to the bureau chief, who told her gravely that Thorpe had confessed to the murder of Dorothy Ramseth and had accepted a plea deal.

Pleased that Dorothy Ramseth would receive justice, Lisbon went back to the office and wrote.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her concentration. A text from Jane.

_Should I expect you home for dinner? Trying to recreate those raspberry green chile corn muffins to go along with the fajitas I'm planning._

Lisbon bit her lip. She glanced at her computer, then looked back at her phone. She did want to work things out with Jane, if it was possible. Or at least get to a place where being in the same room with him wasn't like lying on a bed of broken glass.

_Yes,_ she wrote. _Wrapping something up now. 7 ok?_

_I look forward to it_, Jane wrote simply.

Xxx

She got home an hour later, unaccountably nervous. She dumped her stuff by the door, then went into the kitchen, where she found Jane standing over the stove, his sleeves rolled up as he sautéed a batch of green peppers and onions. "Hey," she said awkwardly.

"Hey," he said, his face lighting up at the sight of her.

No one ever looked as happy to see her as Jane did, she thought with a pang. She looked at his shirt sleeves. Also, it was deeply unfair of him to look that good and be cooking at the same time.

She cleared her throat. "How was work?"

"Fine," Jane said, glancing over at her. "I've been helping out with the end of year school play. It's pretty fun."

Lisbon smiled slightly, thinking of the woodland fairy tale space Jane had created in his classroom. "Are you helping with set design?"

"Among other things," he agreed.

"Is George making a cameo in this particular performance?" she asked, referring to the papier-mâché dragon.

He smiled. "Not this one. But he may be about to acquire an elephant cousin."

"I bet that will be pretty impressive."

"Speaking of impressive—I read your article this morning," he said, flipping the peppers and onions onto a plate. He met her eyes. "It was wonderful."

Lisbon ducked her head. "Thanks."

"I'm proud of you," he said softly.

"Thank you," Lisbon said again, mesmerized by the look in his eyes. She cleared her throat again. "I've got another one coming out tomorrow. Thorpe confessed to killing Dorothy Ramseth."

Jane shook his head. "I guess you can take the Lisbon out of the bureau of investigation, but you can't take the investigator out of Lisbon."

She grinned despite herself. "Hush." God, it felt so good to smile at him again.

Jane set down the fajitas and took a step closer to her. "Listen, Teresa, about that talk—can we try it again? Because I have some things I want to say—"

The doorbell rang.

Lisbon looked towards the front hall in consternation. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No," Jane said, shooting a disgruntled look in the direction of the hallway. "Are you?"

"No."

"I'll get it," Jane grumbled, and went to answer the door. Lisbon followed, her curiosity piqued.

It was Montrose.

"Big news," Montrose announced after Jane had shut the door behind her. "They've set a date for the trial."

"When is it?" Lisbon asked, a strange surge of anticipation and dread swirling together in her stomach at the thought. They would get to go home. But also—they would have to leave this place that had become a different kind of home. She realized with dismay that despite all the crap between her and Jane at the moment, there was a part of her that wasn't so sure she wanted to go back to her old life. The one where two killers were trying to kill her and Jane didn't sleep beside her every night.

"Four weeks from now," Montrose said. "U.S. District Court in Los Angeles."

"Why L.A.?" Jane asked, frowning.

Montrose shrugged. "Some lawyerly reason about some of Scalzi's interstate trafficking charges. Hell if I know."

"What's the plan for trial prep?" Lisbon asked, her mind immediately going to the practicalities involved in giving her testimony. Would they have to leave Salt Lake in only a couple of weeks? Her heart sank. What if she and Jane hadn't resolved anything by then? What if he took this opportunity while she was being interrogated by a thousand lawyers to quietly slip away and resume his quest for Red John?

"Don't know yet," Montrose said. "You probably won't be called on to testify right at the beginning of the trial, though, so I don't see us pulling you out of here until after it's started, at least."

Lisbon let out a tiny breath of relief. "Okay."

Montrose pulled out a fistful of letters from her bag. "Oh, also, I have mail for you." She started to hand the stack to Lisbon. Lisbon reached out for it greedily, but Montrose stopped before completing the handoff and pulled the top one out of the stack. "This one's for you," she said, handing it to Jane.

Jane brightened. "Really? Let me guess, it's from Cho. I always knew he'd crack first, the old softie," he said, chuckling as he accepted the letter.

He opened the letter and scanned the contents, his expression darkening as he read.

"Patrick?" Lisbon said, worried by the expression on his face. "What is it?"

Jane's face was a dark mask. He folded it in half and thrust the letter towards her. "See for yourself."

Lisbon accepted it hesitantly. As he passed it to her, a small wallet sized photograph slipped out of the single folded sheet of paper and fell to the floor. Lisbon bent to pick it up, and then she saw what had caused Jane to react the way he had.

It was a photograph of Lorelei, head and shoulders. Her left eye was purpled and swollen, her lower lip split.

The letter was simple. _You could stop this, lover. You could make him stop hurting me. Why won't you protect me?_

"What is it?" Montrose asked in alarm, catching sight of their faces.

"A letter from Patrick's—ex, I guess you would call her," Lisbon said, grimacing.

"She's not my ex," Jane said sharply.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "I hardly think the semantics are important at this point, do you?"

Jane glowered. "I happen to think they are important—"

Lisbon handed the letter back to Montrose. "You'll need to get that to Agent Cho," she told her. "Could be important for the Red John case."

Jane frowned. "How'd you get that letter in the first place?"

Montrose blinked. "It was forwarded from the CBI, just like the others. Picked up from your office mailbox."

Jane's shoulders dropped as he exhaled. "That's good. It doesn't completely rule out the possibility that he knows where we are, or who Montrose and Soren are, but if he knew exactly where we were, I think he'd be more likely to send it directly to Montrose. To rub it into our faces."

Lisbon was inclined to agree. "What do you think it means?"

"Obvious, isn't it? It's hardly subtle." Jane's jaw tightened. "He's trying to use Lorelei to get me to go back to California. Or at least betray my hand by trying to intervene from afar. He thinks I'll feel responsible for her safety because I slept with her in Vegas."

Montrose looked askance at him at this revelation but didn't comment.

Lisbon privately thought Red John was probably pretty close to the mark in this particular case. "Why now, though?"

"It's just as I said before," he said, meeting her eyes. "He wanted to let us get closer. Then once I had more to lose, he would act to take everything away from me again."

Lisbon swallowed but didn't lower her gaze. "Oh."

"So he must have found out about the trial date," Montrose offered. "The timing is too coincidental otherwise, isn't it?"

Jane looked at her as though faintly surprised to see she was there at all, let alone that she had come to the table with a theory about Red John. "Yes. I think you're right about that."

"So now that the trial is imminent, he wants to provoke you into coming out into the open?" Lisbon said, frowning.

Jane looked back at her. "More specifically, he wants me to manipulate me into doing something stupid so he can come after you. He knows I'll be hyped up over the threat of Scalzi during the trial. Probably thinks he can capitalize on that to get me to make a mistake that leaves you exposed."

"Jesus," Montrose said, exhaling through her teeth. She looked at Lisbon. "We're gonna have to triple your protection at the trial."

"Great," Lisbon said without enthusiasm. She looked at Jane, knowing that he was thinking the same thing as she was. If Red John was determined to come after her, she was fairly certain an army of federal agents wouldn't be enough to stop him.

Xxx

After Montrose left, Jane balled his hands into fists and exhaled deeply. "I need to think," he said shortly.

"Okay," Lisbon said cautiously. There was no attic for him to retreat to here, though. "When should I expect you back?"

He looked at her as though she were crazy. "I'm not leaving," he said. "I just—need to think."

"Fine," Lisbon said, annoyed that he was behaving as though she were completely irrational for assuming he'd go haring off on his own, after everything that had come before. "Do what you need to do."

His jaw tightened. "I'll talk to you after," he said stiffly.

Lisbon jerked her head upward in acknowledgment and turned on her heel, frustrated.

Accordingly, Jane shut himself in the office and Lisbon ate fajitas alone.

Several hours later, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Lorelei. She'd need to talk to Cho about increasing the security around her, if Red John could get to her so easily within the prison walls. He'd obviously sent a proxy to do the actual dirty work, but the end result was the same.

No, she reminded herself. She'd have to ask Montrose to pass a message to Cho. They would have to be extra careful about communication protocols, under the circumstances.

She thought some more about Lorelei, and Jane's expression when he'd seen that letter. Jealousy warred with sympathy for Jane, being so crudely assaulted at his weakest point. Namely, his ability to protect those he cared about. Just exactly to what degree Lorelei fell into that category, Lisbon had never been completely clear. Jane insisted their relationship had been entirely transactional, but Lisbon had never been wholly convinced of that. God, it was so _annoying_ being jealous.

The bedroom door opened and Jane entered. "Hey," he said wearily. He gestured to the bed. "May I?"

Lisbon turned back the covers for him in silent invitation.

Jane got into bed and stared at the ceiling.

"Did you have anything to eat?" Lisbon asked softly.

Jane grimaced. "Not hungry."

"The fajitas were good," Lisbon said tentatively. "Want me to warm up a plate for you?"

"Leave it, please," Jane said, sounding as though it were a great effort to keep his voice even.

Fine, she thought, annoyed all over again. If he was going to be like that, she wouldn't bother with further olive branches. She wordlessly turned over onto her side with her back to him so he would know she had no intention of bothering him further on the subject.

Jane sighed. "I'm sorry." He exhaled deeply again. "I'm a little out of sorts."

Lisbon turned back over and studied him. "Did you figure anything out during your thinking time?"

"Not a thing," Jane said, defeated. "I've been over every angle, and I haven't thought of a single useful idea to get out in front of him on this one."

"I'm sorry," Lisbon said with real sympathy.

Jane put his hand over his eyes. "What if he comes after you during the trial?" he said, his voice betraying the slightest tremor.

Lisbon bit her lip. "Wouldn't it make more sense for him to wait until after?" she said. "You heard Montrose. He's going to have a lot of security to contend with for the duration of the trial. It'd be much easier for him to wait for that whole circus to be over and then pick me off once we're back in Sacramento and Scalzi's safely out of the way."

Jane let out a hollow laugh. "What a comforting scenario. Thanks for that."

She tentatively reached out and placed a hand on his wrist. "What about Lorelei?"

Jane stiffened beneath her fingers. "What about her?"

"Any ideas how we can keep her safe? I'll ask Montrose to pass the word along to Cho to increase the security around her, but I don't think it will be enough, do you?"

"No," Jane said gloomily. "She's obviously complicit in whatever they're doing to her. I don't see how we can stop it."

She hesitated, then slid her hand down his wrist and slipped her hand into his. "I'm sorry this is happening to you."

Jane glanced down at their joined hands in surprise and then looked over at her, incredulous. "Happening to _me?_"

She shrugged against her pillow. "You said it yourself. He's arranged all of this to provoke you. Hitting you where he knows it will hurt you the most."

"He hasn't even gotten in the vicinity of where it will hurt me the most," Jane said savagely. He pulled his hand away from her and scowled at the ceiling. Then forced himself to take two calming breaths. "I admit it seems clear he's gearing up to do just that," he said darkly.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. "Patrick—"

He recoiled from her touch. "Please don't," he said harshly.

"Don't what?" Lisbon said, hurt. "I was just—"

He gestured between the two of them. "I don't want you to reach out to me out of pity, or whatever this is supposed to be. You're mad at me. I'd prefer that you just—stay mad at me. This has nothing to do with the other."

"Of course it does," Lisbon said, annoyed. She punched him in the arm. "And did it ever occur to you that I'm reaching out to you because I care about you, despite whatever other crap is between us? That when you're hurt, it hurts me, and I want us to comfort each other, even when I'm still so mad at you I could strangle you with my bare hands?"

Jane stared at her, wide-eyed. "Uh—not really, no."

"Well, I do," Lisbon huffed.

A pause. "If that's the case," Jane said cautiously. "I suppose I wouldn't be entirely opposed to what you're proposing."

"Idiot," she muttered. But she shifted closer to him and put her head on his chest anyway, grumbling into his shirt under her breath.

After a moment, she became aware that Jane's chest was shaking slightly beneath her cheek. She lifted her head, concerned that he might have started weeping, only to find that he was fighting back laughter.

"What now?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he said, trying to keep his face from betraying a smile. "I was just thinking."

She glared at him. "Thinking what?"

"Just that, well—I've heard of angry sex. But I've never heard of angry cuddling before," he said, losing the battle against laughter and shaking his head with a chuckle.

She punched him lightly in the ribs. "Shut up. I'll give you angry cuddling," she said, and took his face in her hands. She kissed him, biting his lower lip a little harder than she might have done under other circumstances.

Jane groaned. "Is that supposed to be some kind of punishment? Because let me tell you, you have really got the wrong end of the stick on that one—"

She silenced him with another kiss.

When she released him, she expected him to tease her some more, but instead, he kissed her back fiercely. Then he pulled her closer to him, shaking with emotion this time. "I'm not going to let him get you, Teresa," he whispered into her ear, his voice choked. "I swear I'm not."

Lisbon tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her arm around his waist. "I know, Patrick," she said softly. "I know you won't."

"I don't suppose this means I'm forgiven for the other thing," Jane said, stroking the ends of her hair.

Lisbon snuggled closer to him. "Nope." But she felt better than she had in days. Judging by Jane's soft sigh and the way his arms tightened around her, he must have felt much the same way.


	28. Chapter 28

Lorelei sent Jane a note every day for the next seven days.

Every note included a photograph. Each worse than the one before, despite the additional security measures the prison had put in place. The notes themselves varied little in essentials. _He's hurting me. Why won't you stop him, lover?_

Jane clenched his jaw and remained darkly, terrifyingly silent after receiving each note. When Lisbon tentatively broached the subject, he stated crisply that he had no intention of being manipulated, but Lisbon could see how much it was eating away at him. No matter how much he protested that he didn't care about Lorelei, he did feel responsible for her, and being powerless to get her out of the situation was impacting him more than he wanted to admit.

Lisbon was all tangled up over the matter herself, her lingering frustration with Jane coexisting with jealousy of Lorelei as she struggled to be patient and forgiving towards him. Not to mention simultaneously dreading the trial and longing for it to be over with. Wanting to go home to her team and re-establish proper communication with her family. At the same time, not wanting to leave this little home she and Jane had carved out for themselves, no matter how difficult things had been between them lately. Plus, you know, the increasing certainty that at least two different criminal masterminds would be trying to kill her in a few short weeks.

She typed up her latest assignment with half her attention elsewhere, still puzzling over the challenge of keeping Lorelei safe. What the hell was wrong with the woman, anyway? What kind of person would so willingly participate in their own destruction? She still found it mind-boggling that Jane, who had remained faithful to his wife's memory for so many years, had been willing to sleep with Red John's minion after knowing her only a few days. Okay, so Lorelei was beautiful, but seriously. How could Jane, master of perception, not noticed that the woman was batshit crazy? And if he had noticed, how could he have still managed to…perform? Did he not find psychotic behavior an irreconcilable turnoff? Nobody could be that great at biofeedback, she thought, scowling at her computer.

"Teresa," Heather called from across the room. She and Nightingale stood by the coffee maker, arguing good-naturedly. Heather beckoned to her. "Come over here and settle something for us."

"Sure," Lisbon said distractedly. She picked up her coffee mug and walked over to the break area. "What's up?" she asked, filling her mug from the freshly brewed pot.

"Taliesin West," Heather said. "Caleb wants to go, but I'm not sure it will be worth the effort. What do you think? Does it live up to the hype?"

"Taliesin West?" Lisbon repeated blankly. She put a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee and stirred. "What is that? A band?"

Heather frowned at her. "You're kidding, right? How can you not know Taliesin West?"

"I dunno. I don't listen to a lot of pop music," Lisbon said with a shrug, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Pop music," Nightingale chortled. "You crack me up, Meyers." He clapped her on the shoulder and ambled back to his desk with his coffee, still chuckling.

Heather looked at her strangely. "Seriously, is this some kind of joke?"

Givens' booming voice interrupted them. "Meyers!" he barked from across the room. He stood in the doorway to his office, looking decidedly disgruntled. He jerked his head towards his office. "My office. Now."

Lisbon made a face at Heather. "Sorry. Duty calls."

Givens, after blustering for a good fifteen minutes, finally got to the point and sent her out on assignment. Another drudge assignment. Lisbon drank her coffee and seethed inwardly. She really ought to consult Jane about managing Givens. She was sure he would be able to think of some perfectly diabolical method of putting the little toad in his place.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he finally released her and dutifully headed out to hit the streets. The assignment was straightforward but tedious, and when she got back, her mood had not improved.

"Hey," she said to Heather grouchily as she set her stuff down at her desk.

Heather glanced up at her but said nothing, hunching her shoulders a little and turning away without saying a word.

Lisbon frowned. "Is everything okay?"

Heather's shoulders hunched further, but otherwise, she continued to ignore her.

Alarmed, Lisbon walked over to her side and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Heather?" she said tentatively. "What's the matter?"

Heather shook her off and turned, her eyes flashing. "What's the matter? Oh, nothing. I just found out that someone that I thought was my friend has been lying to me since the moment we met, that's all. No big deal."

"What do you mean?" Lisbon said in consternation. "Who's been lying to you?"

Heather snorted. "Oh, that's rich. Very sweet and innocent. Well, you can drop the act now, okay? I know you're a fraud."

Lisbon took half a step back. "What—what do you mean?"

Heather scowled. "I _mean_, Teresa—if that's your real name—that you should have done your homework a little better."

"Heather," Lisbon said, her voice a low warning. "What are you talking about?"

Heather glared at her. "I did some research on you. And you know what I found out? Teresa Meyers doesn't exist. At least, she didn't before a few months ago. Someone went to great lengths to make it appear as though she did, but they missed a few key details. Like the fact that anybody who grew up in Scottsdale would know what Taliesin West is."

Oh, shit. Lisbon swallowed. "It's not a band, is it?" she asked with dread.

"It's a Frank Lloyd Wright," Heather said, her voice full of scorn. "His winter home. It's one of the major tourist attractions in Scottsdale."

Lisbon closed her eyes. "I see." Of all the idiotic mistakes.

Heather crossed her arms over her chest. "Well? Are you some kind of con artist, or what? A criminal? Give me one reason I shouldn't call the police right now and tell them how you've weaseled your way in here under false pretenses. God knows why you'd pretend to be a reporter, of all things, but maybe there's some profit in it that I'm not seeing." Her eyes narrowed. "Were you getting a payout somewhere along the line from Blackhawk? And they betrayed you, so you came here to get revenge on them?"

Jesus. Heather had an even wilder imagination than Jane. Lisbon checked herself. No, that wasn't right. No one had a wilder imagination than Jane. She glanced around uneasily. "Okay, listen. I understand why you're upset."

"Very understanding of you, I'm sure," Heather said snidely.

Lisbon made a split second decision. "Look, I'll explain everything, okay? But not here."

"Where?" Heather said suspiciously. "Why should I go anywhere with you?"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Lisbon said, exasperated. "I just don't want anyone else to find out why I'm really here, okay? It will make sense once I've explained it to you properly."

"Where do you want to go?" Heather demanded, still suspicious.

Lisbon hesitated. "The public library." That would be fastest, she thought.

Heather blinked. "The library?" Apparently, this suggestion didn't line up with her expectations of the threatening presence of a lying fraud.

"Yes," Lisbon said firmly. "It's only a few blocks away. We can walk there, so you don't have to worry about getting in a car with me, if you're concerned about your safety. I will walk in front of you the whole time so you can keep an eye on me, okay?"

Heather hesitated. "Okay," she said reluctantly.

"Great," Lisbon said, relieved. "Let's go."

Xxx

When they got to the library, Lisbon headed for one of the public computer terminals. Heather trailed in her wake, still suspicious. Lisbon gestured to the chair in front of the terminal. "Have a seat."

Heather shot her a sidelong glance, bemused and wary. She sat down.

"Google the name 'Teresa Lisbon,'" Lisbon said grimly.

Heather glanced at her again but did as she was told.

She blinked when she saw the first page of search results. She straightened and clicked on the first link as though she half expected some sort of fanged creature to leap out at her from the screen. An article from the Sacramento Bee loaded in the browser, a feature on a case Lisbon had worked on before leaving the CBI. The article featured a photograph of her with her team working the crime scene. In the foreground, she stood taking notes while she spoke to the local sheriff. Cho stood next to her. Behind them, Rigsby and Van Pelt were talking two witnesses. In the background, Jane was just visible, his hands in his pockets as he looked off into the distance, no doubt midway through hatching some convoluted plan to catch the killer.

Heather leaned forward and scanned the caption. "Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon of the California Bureau of Investigation," she read. She looked up at Lisbon questioningly. "You're a cop?"

Lisbon glanced around uneasily. "Keep your voice down, okay?"

"Okay," Heather said, her voice hushed. "But if you work for the California Bureau of Investigation, why are you in Utah?"

Lisbon grimaced. "It's a long story."

Heather looked at her avidly. "Are you undercover or something?"

"Or something," Lisbon said. "Have you seen what you need to?"

Heather nodded.

Lisbon released a breath. "Can we go for a walk?"

"Sure." Heather stood.

They left the library and went to a park two blocks away. Lisbon steered Heather to a bench beneath a pair of leafy trees that didn't have any other benches near it.

"So what's the deal?" Heather asked once they were seated, unable to contain herself. "If you're such a big shot cop, why did you come to Salt Lake?"

Lisbon hesitated. "I'm kind of—on sabbatical."

"Sabbatical?" Heather echoed. "What does that mean? That doesn't explain why you're in a completely different state living under a different name. If you're not undercover, and you're not in Witness Protection or something—"

Lisbon looked at her sharply.

Heather's eyes widened. "Holy shit. You're in Witness Protection?"

"Yeah," Lisbon said, defeated.

Heather looked impressed. "That is so cool."

Lisbon made a face. "Believe me, it hasn't exactly been a picnic."

"So why are you in Witness Protection?" Heather asked keenly. "I didn't even know they sent cops into Witness Protection."

"Me, neither," Lisbon muttered. "It's kind of a sore point, actually."

"So can you tell me why they put you in the program?" Heather asked expectantly.

Lisbon sighed. In for a penny…

She told Heather about the undercover op with Sanchez and the whole Fish Rock debacle. "So the feds were so worried about Scalzi coming after me before the trial, they insisted on putting me into WITSEC," she finished.

Heather frowned. "So where does Patrick come into this whole story? Is he testifying against Scalzi, too?"

Lisbon snorted. "No. He just insisted in coming along because he was paranoid about Red John infiltrating WITSEC and coming after me."

"The serial killer?" Heather said, eyes wide. "Why would he come after you?"

"Because of Patrick," Lisbon explained. And then somehow she found herself explaining all about Red John and how Jane had come to join the CBI in the first place.

"So you guys weren't married before you went into Witness Protection?" Heather asked, fascinated.

"No," Lisbon said. "We'd never even been on a date."

Heather whistled. "Damn. This is better than cable."

Lisbon shoved her gently, but couldn't help smiling a little despite herself. "Hush."

"I won't give you away, Teresa," Heather said earnestly. "I swear."

Lisbon was touched. "Thanks, Heather." She impulsively hugged the younger woman. "You've been a good friend to me. I hope—" Her voice caught. "I hope we can stay in touch, after the trial. I've really come to treasure our friendship."

"Are you kidding?" Heather said, hugging her back. "I'm totally going to hit you up next time I want to go on a beach vacation."

"Sacramento is over two hours from the ocean," Lisbon said, amused. "But I'd love to have you visit. Though I don't know why you'd want to, after hearing that whole saga."

"We'll leave the killers behind in Sacramento," Heather said decisively, tucking her arm through Lisbon's as they started back towards the office. "Two hours isn't that far. You and me, we're going to the beach."

Xxx

Though in many respects, having told Heather the truth was a relief, towards the end of the day, Lisbon started to have misgivings. She'd violated every WITSEC protocol in the book. Her instincts told her Heather could be trusted, but her instincts had been wrong before.

For once, she beat Jane back to the house after work. He found her straightening the living room.

"Oh, dear," he said in alarm, catching sight of her needlessly fluffing up the pillows on the couch the moment he walked in. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, good," she said, relieved. "You're back. I need your advice."

"Wow, something must be really wrong," he said, his eyes widening. He perched on one arm of the couch and looked at her expectantly. "What happened?"

She bit her lip. "I—kind of told Heather who I really I am."

He raised his eyebrows. "How did that come about?"

"She asked me something about Taliesin West and she got suspicious when I didn't know what it was," Lisbon admitted.

"I suppose you didn't have a lot of occasion to study twentieth century American architecture at the police academy," Jane commented. "The feds should have included a list of Scottsdale sights in their brainwashing packets."

Lisbon looked at him, exasperated. "I suppose you know the name of every house Frank Lloyd Wright ever created."

"Well—not all of them," Jane allowed. "He designed over four hundred buildings in his lifetime. I could name most of the major ones, though."

Lisbon sighed. "I guess I should have had you quizzing me about Scottsdale tourist attractions each night. Anyway, Heather figured out Teresa Meyers has only existed a few months and she accused me of—well, being some kind of con woman, I guess."

"So why didn't you just tell her you were one?" Jane wanted to know.

Lisbon blinked. "I—" she stopped. "Oh. I suppose I should have." She cursed her stupidity.

"You really are the worst liar I've ever met," Jane remarked. "You crumbled at the first challenge to your cover."

"She threatened to call the police," she protested, feeling the need to defend her decision.

"That's when you need to persuade the mark that you're a victim of the system, so they feel sorry for you and feel bad about turning you in," Jane said sagely. He patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm sure even if you _had _confessed to being a con woman, you would have come up with such an unconvincing cover story that she would have become suspicious of your credibility as a criminal and we would have ended up at the same endpoint. Your way was more efficient, really."

Lisbon scowled. "Shut up."

"So what did you tell her?"

Lisbon winced. "Everything, pretty much."

"What did she say when you told her?"

"She said she wouldn't tell anyone."

"Do you believe her?"

"I did, in the moment," Lisbon said. "She's not the type to give something away in a careless moment. But I don't know—I started to doubt myself as the day went on. Do you think I should tell Montrose and Soren?"

Jane grimaced. "I suppose they'd insist on shipping us off to some other city until the trial if they knew about this."

"Definitely," Lisbon agreed.

"And you don't want to move and try to establish a new cover at this point," Jane concluded. "You don't want the stability of this fake life ripped out from under you now that you've finally gotten settled into the daily life of Teresa Meyers of Salt Lake."

Lisbon bit her lip. "Right."

"Nor do I, really," Jane admitted.

"Even if Heather doesn't say anything, what if somebody else figures it out?" Lisbon fretted. "Nightingale was there when I messed up the thing about Taliesin West. He could figure it out just as easily. God knows how many stupid mistakes like that I've made without realizing it. Anybody could figure it out."

Jane shook his head. "No. Most people are too wrapped up in their own issues to do anything besides idly wonder at inconsistencies they've observed. Since most people are inconsistent in some way or another even without a cover identity to worry about, something small like that won't stand out to most people. Heather only followed up on the inconsistency because she's invested in you. If you weren't important to her on a personal level, she wouldn't have bothered."

Lisbon let out a breath. "So you think it's all right?"

Jane was silent for a moment. "Let me meet her," he said finally. "I should be able to get a read on her. Then we can decide whether we need to tell Montrose and Soren."

"Good idea," Lisbon said gratefully. She pulled out her phone and dialed Heather's number.

"Heather? It's Teresa. Listen…how would you feel about finally going on that double date?"


	29. Chapter 29

Lisbon's stomach churned with anxiety as she walked with Jane towards the diner where they'd arranged to meet Heather and her boyfriend for dinner. She was not looking forward to this evening of lying. Heather knew the truth now, of course, but Lisbon and Jane would have to pretend they weren't assessing her for signs that she might double cross them. At the same time, they still had to pretend they were Patrick and Teresa Meyers for Caleb's sake, the only person among the four who didn't know their true identities by this point. They would have to pretend to be a happily married couple with no death threats, psychotic ex-lovers, or the specter of a recent event that had nearly fractured their relationship hanging over their heads. Lisbon thought there was a real possibility her brain might spill out onto the dinner table like spaghetti midway through the meal, unable to manage all the lies at once.

Jane put his hand on her lower back and rubbed soothing circles through her shirt. "Relax," he murmured into her ear. "Everything's going to be fine."

Lisbon tensed even further, suddenly and violently turned on by the hand on her back. She cursed herself for her reaction, which was completely inappropriate and unhelpful under the circumstances. She bit her lip and concentrated on not mauling Jane in the parking lot. She wished they didn't have to go on this stupid date. She wished Lorelei would stop sending those goddamn notes and that things were normal between her and Jane again. She wished that she could ask him to take her back to the house and drive her out of her mind so she wouldn't have to think about any of this anymore.

She knew from experience he could do it.

Jane's fingers tensed on her back as though she'd transferred a portion of her tension directly to him through the point of physical contact. "Not that I don't appreciate the thought," he whispered. "But can we focus here?" He looked at her quizzically. "Besides, I thought you were still mad at me."

Lisbon shook him off, annoyed. "I _am_ mad at you." God, couldn't she have a single lustful thought to herself?

"I suppose I should be flattered you still want me for my body, at least," Jane mused. "But to be honest, it's kind of demoralizing, under the circumstances."

"Forget the date," Lisbon growled, her face flaming. "I'm going to kill you in the parking lot."

Jane straightened. "I mean, I'm not saying I'm not amenable to the idea—I'm not _that_ demoralized—"

"Shut up," Lisbon snapped, and led the way into the diner.

When they entered the diner, Lisbon saw Heather and Caleb already seated at a booth by the window. Lisbon pasted a smile on her face and crossed over to the booth with Jane on her heels. Heather slid out of the booth and gave Lisbon a quick hug, then reached out to shake Jane's hand. "You must be Patrick," she said, beaming. "Nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Jane said, smiling back. "Teresa's been singing your praises ever since we moved here. Nice to have a face to go with the name." He turned his attention to Caleb, a tall, gangling young man with a shock of red hair that flopped over his forehead. "And you must be Caleb," he said, shaking his hand in turn. "Pleased to meet you."

"Hi," Caleb said, returning the handshake with a shy grin.

Lisbon offered her hand as she introduced herself. "Teresa."

"Teresa, nice to meet you," Caleb said, shaking her hand with more energy. He shook his head. "It's funny, the way Heather talked about you, I thought you'd be, I dunno—" he shrugged apologetically. "Taller."

"She gets that a lot," Jane said, putting his hand on her back again and gesturing for her to slide into the booth before him.

"Oh, hush," Lisbon said, slapping him on the shoulder half-heartedly as she allowed him to maneuver her into the booth.

Once they were all seated, Jane skillfully took charge of the conversation, to Lisbon's immense relief. He asked Heather and Caleb thoughtful questions about themselves and told entertaining stories about their fake life together in Scottsdale. He and Caleb discovered a mutual love of cooking and bonded over a discussion of several modern artists Lisbon had never heard of. Once they ventured into topic areas he was passionate about, Caleb overcame his shyness and grew more animated.

Heather, for her part, turned out to be a gifted storyteller in her own right, nearly reducing the entire group to tears of laughter with her uncanny impression of Givens and his various acts of petty tyranny.

"You should have seen Teresa's face when he tried to put her on this story about a local beauty pageant." Heather finished. "I thought her head was going to explode. She looked like she was going to shoot somebody."

"Oh, I'm familiar with the look," Jane said, grinning at Lisbon.

Lisbon rolled her eyes but accepted the ribbing. "I wasn't going to shoot him," she protested. She looked at Jane. "I did think about taking a leaf from your book and pretending to put a dead mouse in his pocket, though."

"You should have," Jane said, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the booth behind her. "The memory of that dead mouse smell is a powerful influencer of behavior."

"Uh—dead mouse?" Caleb asked, his eyes wide.

Lisbon froze, having forgotten their cover for a moment and struggling to come up with some halfway reasonable explanation for the dead mouse comment. Of course, there was no halfway reasonable explanation. Jane's actions rarely crossed paths with 'reasonable.'

Jane smoothly stepped in and told the story of the first time he'd met Bertram and the aide who had so irked him. He changed the names and cast Bertram as the principal of the fictional school he'd worked at in Scottsdale, but otherwise the retelling was remarkably faithful to the original. Not for the first time, Lisbon marveled at Jane's ability to weave together truth and lies so seamlessly.

"…and he never wore that jacket again," Jane concluded.

Caleb nearly snorted soda out of his nose. Heather patted him on the back and shook her head. "All right, enough work talk," she said, fixing Lisbon with a mischievous look. "I want to hear the romantic tale of how you two met."

Jane raised his eyebrows at Lisbon. "You want to take this one?"

Lisbon suppressed a grimace. "You'd better tell it." She was certain Jane was going to make up something horribly embarrassing, but at least she wouldn't have to come up with yet another lie herself.

"Very well." Jane turned back to Heather and Caleb and announced, "Teresa rescued me from a bar fight."

"Really?" Heather said, amused.

"Yep. I had a—disagreement with a gentleman at this bar back home—"

"You mean, you purposefully provoked him," Lisbon put in, thinking of Hannigan. What a sucker she'd been, thinking Jane was actually the victim in that situation.

Jane waved a dismissive hand. "Potato, potah-to. Anyway, the point is, my nose was already bleeding and the guy was about to sock me in the jaw. But before he can hit me again, Teresa marches over and dresses down the guy in front of the whole bar. The guy is so mad he's still trying to get at me, but I was sensibly hiding behind Teresa by that point. But the guy takes another swing at me, and instead of ducking out of the way, Teresa punches him right in the nose."

"Seriously?"

"The guy was six feet if he was an inch and had about a hundred pounds on her, and she knocked him on his ass in one blow." He looked at Lisbon affectionately. "She was a real knight in shining armor."

"So then what happened?" Caleb said, fascinated.

"Well, naturally, I had to repay her for coming to my rescue," Jane said. "So I let her fuss and fret over me and my bleeding nose. And then I did what any man with half a brain would do and asked for her phone number."

That sounded so…normal, Lisbon thought. Asking for her phone number. She tried to imagine meeting Jane in a context outside of work, revenge, and violence. She failed. Trying to visualize Jane asking for her phone number, the closest image she came up with was him pickpocketing her phone and pretending to have mixed it up with his or something. Or otherwise tricking it out of her.

"And you said yes?" Heather said to Lisbon expectantly.

"Oh, well—" Lisbon said, flustered. "He did look pretty pathetic, with his nose bleeding like that."

"I appealed to her nature as a fixer," Jane informed Heather and Caleb. "She could see I was broken. Naturally, I exploited her desire to take care of people as far as possible."

"Oh, man. That guy broke your nose?" Caleb said, scrunching up his own nose in sympathy.

"No, not my nose," Jane corrected him. "It's made of pretty sturdy stuff. I was referring to the fact that I used to suffer from clinical depression."

Caleb blinked. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"That's awful," Heather said sympathetically.

"It was awful," Jane agreed. "I was even institutionalized for a while." He said it carelessly, as though he had no compunction about sharing this deeply private detail with two people he'd only just met. Then added, "But Teresa helped me get better."

"You're exaggerating," Lisbon protested. "You had—" she paused, thinking of Sophie Miller and wondering how far into the land of truth she was allowed to venture into here. God, her head hurt. "You had help," she finished lamely. "Professional medical help."

"Meh," Jane said dismissively. "Doctors. Frauds in white coats." He covered her hand with his on the table. "You're the one who helped me get better."

"Mm," Lisbon said noncommittally. A depressed person couldn't be cured by another individual. She knew that better than anyone. This conversation was growing more treacherous by the minute. All the truth and lies jumbled up together – she couldn't get her bearings. She didn't know which part she was supposed to respond to, the truths or the lies. And then whichever it was, whether she was supposed to respond with truth or lies, in turn.

Heather cast Lisbon a sidelong look. "How did she help you get better?"

"To be honest, I'm still trying to work that out," Jane said with a wry smile. "I was a very contrary patient, you see."

"I'll say," Lisbon muttered.

His hand tightened on hers. "I guess it's just too much to expect a man to remain entirely hopeless when he spends every day around someone who works tirelessly for the common good. Someone who seems so prickly on the outside, but quietly and efficiently takes care of the people around her without ever asking anything for herself." He cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "I can't tell her stuff like that, of course. She'll accuse me of putting her on a pedestal or some such rot. She doesn't understand that she's more inspiring off a pedestal than on one. That her short temper and grumpy morning attitude make her so endearingly and reassuringly real that they have their own healing effect."

Lisbon flushed. "I think it was the medication, myself."

"Don't be silly, darling. You know that stuff only made things worse for me." He looked back at Heather and Caleb. "Adverse reactions, you know. But seriously. She helped me find purpose in something other than anger and pain. Helped me see beyond myself. Did me more good than the most expensive doctors in the country."

"Patrick," Lisbon said helplessly. Why was he bringing all this up now? If he really felt like that, why couldn't he just tell her when it was just the two of them? Without an audience and a protective coating of lies.

He turned and met her gaze. "What? It's the truth."

Lisbon could only shake her head.

"What about you, Teresa?" Heather said. "What made you fall for Patrick?"

Unprepared for the question, Lisbon struggled to articulate the feelings she'd fought for so long. "He makes me laugh," she said finally. She hesitated, then quickly brushed her thumb over his fingers enclosing hers. "I never had that much laughter in my life, before he came along. He reminds me not to take things too seriously, and he goes out of his way to make me smile. And he has an amazing mind. He drives me crazy sometimes because he won't let you forget how clever he is, but he can pretty much run circles around everyone he meets, intelligence wise. It's impressive to watch. I've learned a lot from him about how people think and behave. And he's very good with people, when he wants to be. He's capable of great acts of kindness. He's very thoughtful and caring," she added, risking a glance at Jane. She swallowed at the intensity of his gaze but continued bravely, her eyes on his. "He takes care of me."

Caleb looked back and forth between them. "How long have the two of you been together?"

"Ten years," Jane answered, finally breaking her gaze and squeezing her hand.

"Wow," Caleb said, impressed. "How much of that time have you been married?"

"Nine and a half years," Jane responded. Lisbon cast him a sidelong glance.

Caleb's eyes widened. "You got married after knowing each other only six months?"

"Well, I proposed after six weeks," Jane said. "Six months was the compromise."

"Six weeks!" Caleb repeated. "You sure didn't waste any time."

Jane shrugged. "When lightning strikes, what's the point of waiting?"

Heather addressed Lisbon. "How did he ask you, Teresa?"

"Oh—Patrick, you'd better tell this one, too," Lisbon said, flushing. She told Heather and Caleb, "He's a much better storyteller than I am."

"All right, Patrick. Let's have it," Heather said expectantly.

"Certainly," Jane said. "It was tricky finding the right way to ask her, let me tell you. I thought of whisking her away to Mexico and surprising her with a yacht rental, but Teresa doesn't like boats, so a romantic sail in the Gulf of California was out of the question. She loves sports, but hates big showy displays and doesn't like being the center of attention, so proposing at a baseball game was out. Same for staging something elaborate with her family. A restaurant proposal posed the same problem. Plus, it's so cliché," he said, making a face. "I also thought about buying a house and presenting her with the keys, because that would be an adequately grand gesture and wouldn't involve an audience, but I had to discard that idea, too. Given how long we'd known each other at that point, I thought the prospect of a mortgage would spook her even more than the proposal."

"So what'd you end up going with in the end?" Caleb prompted.

"In the end, I proposed at home," Jane said. "After careful consideration, I thought she would like that best. So I went to one of those chain stores and bought about two hundred candles. Then I broke into her house and cooked an elaborate meal. When she got home, I popped the question."

"So he chose well, then?" Heather asked Lisbon.

"Except for the fire hazard, yes," Lisbon said.

"Oh, come on, admit it," Jane said. "You were impressed by the effect."

"It did look pretty impressive," Lisbon said to placate him. "Very romantic."

"But the candles weren't the important part," Jane explained to Caleb and Heather. "The words were the important part." He tightened his grip on Lisbon's hand and looked back at her. "So I told her I was humbled and amazed by her intelligence, kindness, and bravery. That she inspired me to be a better person and that I loved her more than I ever thought possible. I told her I wanted to watch her yell at the television when her favorite baseball team was losing for the rest of my life. That I loved her crankiness in the morning. That I daydreamed about dark haired children with green eyes." His eyes bored into hers. "I told her that no one would ever love her more than I did. That her happiness was the most important thing in the world to me, and that I would be honored if she would allow me to spend the rest of my life proving that to her. And I told her if she wasn't ready, I would wait for her, because I wanted her to be sure of me."

A lump rose in Lisbon's throat and she found herself blinking back tears. "Sap," she said thickly, burying her face in his shoulder to hide how affected she was by his fake proposal.

"Very smooth," Caleb said appreciatively.

"So what did you say when he said all that, Teresa?" Heather prodded.

Lisbon lifted her head. "I said getting engaged after knowing someone six weeks was insane," she sniffled, attempting to regain her composure.

Jane patted her hand. "She did say that. But I kept asking, and at six months, she finally said yes. We eloped to St. Thomas the next day."

"Super romantic," Caleb said with approval.

"What about you guys?" Jane said. "How long have you two been together?"

"Three years," Heather answered.

"Three years?" Jane repeated. He looked at Caleb and raised his eyebrows. "What are you waiting for, slugger?"

Caleb went beet red. "Oh, I, uh—"

"Oh, I see," Jane said wisely. "You've already got the ring. You're just steeling your nerves in case she says no."

Caleb's jaw dropped. "Wha—I—how did you know-?"

"You should just ask," Jane advised. "Don't let time get away from you. Happiness is too precious a commodity to waste."

Heather stared at Caleb. "You have a ring?" she said, flabbergasted.

Caleb, still beet red, looked skyward. "Erm. Maybe."

Heather beamed. "Oh." She turned back to her mashed potatoes, still beaming.

Lisbon hit Jane on the shoulder, exasperated. "Can't you ever just mind your own business and let people get to things in their own time?"

"But other people are so slow to get to the heart of things," Jane protested. "They need me to help them along."

This from the man who took over a decade to confess his feelings to her. Lisbon gave him a look.

Jane cleared his throat and hastily turned to the others. "So, uh—who wants dessert? I'm buying."

Xxx

Lisbon was quiet on the ride home, lost in thought.

Jane glanced at her from the driver's seat. "Well?" he prompted her. "Aren't you going to ask me what I thought of Heather?"

Lisbon roused herself from her thoughts with some difficulty. "Sorry. Yes. What do you think? Are our covers safe?"

"I believe so, yes," Jane said. "You were right. She's not the type to let something slip by accident. She clearly hasn't told Caleb, who would be the first person she would tell, if she were going to tell anyone. And she looks up to you—she won't betray you on purpose."

"Good," Lisbon said absently. "That's good."

He looked over at her and frowned. "You don't seem that interested in my assessment. I thought that was the whole point of this outing. What are you thinking about over there?"

"Nothing," Lisbon said, turning her face to the window.

"Teresa," he said, warning in his voice. "Come on. Out with it."

She hunched her shoulders. "I don't understand how you do this stuff," she blurted out. "Making up all those lies—it seems so effortless to you. All week, you've been upset and preoccupied with this Lorelei situation. I've barely been able to get a word out of you in days. Then tonight, you're the life of the party. It's like you have a switch inside you, and you just decide when to turn it off and on based on what you want out of the situation. And all that crap you told Heather and Caleb – it's like you didn't even have to think about it. All the details were just…there. Ready to go. And I just—" She blew out a breath. "I don't understand. I don't understand how it's so easy for you to pretend all this is real."

His jaw tightened. "Well, that makes us even then," he said sharply. "Because I don't understand how it's so easy for you to pretend that it isn't."

She flinched but didn't respond. She silently turned back towards the window.

Jane sighed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"I wasn't trying to…" Lisbon said to the window, just as quietly. "I'm trying to understand."

"I know," Jane said. "I'm sorry. I'll try to explain." He was quiet for a moment. "Didn't you ever play make believe when you were a kid, Teresa?"

Lisbon turned back towards him. "Yeah, of course."

"It's like playing make believe." Jane stared out the front windshield. "It's easy to pretend when it's the thing you want most in the world. When you're a little kid, you're convinced that your destiny is to be a magician, or a pirate, or a spy, or whatever. Logic doesn't matter. You bend the details to fit the narrative you wish was your reality."

Lisbon processed this. "So the whole Patrick Meyers persona is—what? Some kind of fantasy alternate life for you?"

"Is that so difficult to believe? It's that whole thing about 'Why does everybody else get to have a normal life?' Didn't it ever occur to you that part of me wants to be more like Patrick Meyers than Patrick Jane?"

"Even the Prius?" Lisbon said dubiously.

He smiled a little. "The Prius is part of Patrick Meyers. Who wouldn't want to be that guy? Someone who people don't feel sorry for or appalled by when they find out his past? Someone who met an amazing woman and didn't feel the need to hide his feelings for her? Someone who wants to build a nursery and have a kid or two to put inside it?"

"But then—" Lisbon stopped, the words dying on her lips.

"Why doesn't Patrick Jane just be more like Patrick Meyers?" Jane asked dryly.

"Well—yeah."

Jane stared out the windshield again. "Because he's already Patrick Jane," he said gloomily.

Lisbon waited a beat. "So you're saying when we go back to California, you're going to go back to driving the rust bucket."

Jane smiled. "Something like that. And as for the other piece—about switching between reality and the make believe- "

Lisbon winced, feeling guilty about the 'switch' comment.

"I don't really think of it in the same terms," Jane continued. "It's not really like switching on and off to me. It's more like—which priority comes first right now."

Lisbon tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Earlier this week, I was focused on trying to figure out this situation with Lorelei and how it plays into Red John's larger play," he explained. "But when you told me about Heather, that was a more immediate concern, so I turned my focus to that problem first. And that problem required me to 'switch' more firmly into the Patrick Meyers persona, as you put it, so I shut out all the thoughts about Lorelei and Red John for now and just focused on being Patrick Meyers."

"That's what's so hard for me to understand, I think," Lisbon sighed. "I can't compartmentalize like that. I'm not saying this to hurt your feelings, Patrick, I'm just trying to explain why—when you do that, it looks so easy for you. Like there's no difference between how hard it is for you to be Patrick Meyers and how hard it is for you to be Patrick Jane. And so when you're talking about our fake life in Arizona or whatever, you're so damn convincing, it makes me question the things I know to be true, because you make it so hard to distinguish between the make believe and the reality."

"I suppose I can understand that."

Lisbon looked down at her hands. "As for me pretending this isn't real—it comes from the same place, I guess. It's confusing, having some pieces be real and others not so real. For me, it would be easier if it were all one or the other."

"Well," Jane said after a brief pause. "Maybe, when this is all over—if you're still speaking to me…that's something we could work towards. We could phase out the fake stuff and replace it with one hundred percent reality."

She turned her head and looked at him. "That sounds nice," she said wistfully.

He glanced at her. "But you still don't believe it's possible," he said, resigned.

"There's just—so much in the way," she said with a sigh. Namely, Red John. Lorelei, Scalzi… she thought they could overcome those things, with time. But no matter how she looked at it, Red John remained an insurmountable obstacle in every possible path they could choose to take.

Jane frowned. "Maybe we could just—take one thing at a time."

She considered this. "That isn't really how things have been working out for us, though, is it? I mean, the hits just keep coming."

"Yeah," Jane said, deflated.

He lapsed into heavy silence, dark thoughts taking him over. Lisbon suppressed a sigh, realizing this time she had been the one to 'flip the switch' and send him straight back into brooding mode once again.


	30. Chapter 30

There was a new note waiting for them when they got back to the house.

_Come back to me, lover. You said you would help me. Or are your promises as worthless and empty as you are?_

Jane crumpled up the note and clenched it in his fist, his mouth flattening into a grim line.

"Patrick," Lisbon began.

Jane ignored her. He strode into the living room and found a box of matches, then yanked open the screen and threw the crumpled up piece of paper onto the hearth. His hands shaking, he lit a match and flung into the fireplace. The note flared and caught flame. Grimly, he watched it burn to ash.

He turned back to Lisbon abruptly. "It's a misdirect," he announced.

"A misdirect?" Lisbon repeated. "What do you mean?"

"He's unhappy that I'm ignoring him in favor of you," he said, his hand balled into fists at his side.

"Jane, there's nothing in there about me," she began.

"Patrick," he said sharply. "Don't start slipping up now."

"Patrick, then," she said, annoyed. "Look, maybe we can ask Cho to drive down there and check on her—"

"No," he snapped. "We can't let them know we're in contact with the team."

"Fine," she said, her voice clipped. "What do you suggest we do, then?"

He blew out an angry breath. "Nothing," he said, his voice thick with bitterness and frustration. "We do nothing."

Xxx

They went to bed not quite not speaking to each other, but silence reigned thick between them. Jane didn't even bother to feign sleep, just lay there glowering at the ceiling. Lisbon, hurt and frustrated at his continued refusal to let her in, even now, turned to her side and closed her eyes. She clutched her cross and addressed the Lord in a series of silent prayers until she finally fell asleep.

Lisbon hadn't attended mass regularly since she got to Salt Lake, but in the wake of the Lorelei letters, she started going to church in the evenings after work. Not to go to mass, but simply to sit in the quiet and pray.

A little over a week after Lorelei started sending her messed up versions of love notes, Jane turned up in the church, unexpectedly sliding into the pew next to Lisbon after she'd been sitting there quietly for about fifteen minutes.

"What are you doing here?" Lisbon asked, startled. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Jane said shortly.

Lisbon waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. "Ok-aaay. But why are you here?"

Jane shrugged. "It's quiet here. And if I'm here while you're here, I won't be distracted by worrying about whether someone's snatched you in my absence. I thought it would be a good place to think. So I walked over from the house."

"All right," she said reluctantly. "But none of your tricks in a house of God, please."

"No tricks," Jane promised.

Lisbon shook her head, unconvinced. On the other hand, at least he hadn't crawled up the aisle to impersonate God this time. And she supposed a church was as good a place to brood as any other.

Jane's presence distracted her at first. She worried about things like the likelihood that God might strike him down with lightning or that Jane would mortally insult some hapless priest wandering by. But after he had remained quiet and still for several minutes, she relaxed marginally and returned to her prayers. And after a while, there was an odd sort of peacefulness in sitting there in the silence with him. It stretched out and enveloped them in a calm, quiet bubble. She closed her eyes. She prayed for strength and for God to grant her peace. She prayed for Jane and her team and her family. After a brief internal struggle, she uttered a short prayer for Lorelei as well.

She knelt on the kneeler to recite the Lord's Prayer, then crossed herself and sat back in the pew. She opened her eyes to find Jane watching her, his expression inscrutable.

Her face heated. "What?"

"You're an extraordinary person, do you know that?" he said, his voice low. "I'm lucky to know you."

She blushed harder and elbowed him in the ribs. "Hush."

"Sheesh," he said, rubbing his ribs. "Some people can't take a compliment."

She stood. "You ready to go?"

"Sure."

They exited the church, Jane's hand on the small of her back.

They drove home together, both subdued. Ate a quiet dinner. Then did the dishes together in silence.

Lisbon took a dripping plate from Jane, absently pondering Lorelei, Jane, and marriage as she dried it and put it in the cupboard.

"We never had a chance to really finish our conversation from the other day," Jane said abruptly, handing her a clean casserole dish to dry. "Before Montrose brought the first letter, I mean."

"Yeah." Lisbon thought about the notes from Lorelei, each a vicious stab to Jane's—well, if not to his heart, to his soul, at least. "There's been—a lot going on."

Jane grimaced. "That's one way of putting it."

"I've been thinking." Lisbon took a deep breath. "Maybe—maybe you should go back to California."

Jane looked at her sharply. "What? Why?"

Lisbon shrugged helplessly. "There's nothing you can do to help her from here. Maybe if you went back, he'd stop torturing her."

"No," Jane said, scowling. "I'm not leaving you."

"I'm serious. Maybe now, after all he's done to her, you could finally turn her."

"I said no," Jane said harshly. "That's not happening."

Lisbon backed down. "Okay. It was just an idea."

Jane exhaled through his nose. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to—"

He breathed in again. "I know I haven't been—very pleasant to live with lately."

Lisbon looked down at the dish in her hands. "That's understandable, under the circumstances."

He looked at her intently. "I hope you don't think it's because I harbor some kind of feelings for Lorelei."

She lifted her head and met his eyes. "Don't you?" she said softly.

"No," Jane said, irritated. "I told you, I feel nothing for her."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "That's a ridiculous thing to say."

Jane started to protest again, but Lisbon cut him off. "I don't mean I think you're in love with her. But you feel protective of her. You feel guilty that she's in this situation because you chose to engage with her when Red John put her in your path."

Jane snapped his mouth closed.

"You feel no matter what's she's done in the past, you don't want to see her hurt like this, because no one deserves to be a sacrificial lamb in one of Red John's twisted games," Lisbon continued. "You feel angry at her for going along with this whole messed up charade, with agreeing to let Red John use her to manipulate you. You feel powerless to stop what's happening to her, and rage at your powerlessness." She put the dish down on the counter and looked at him. "You don't feel _nothing._"

Jane looked away. "Okay," he said finally. "There may be…some feelings. And you may be... in the vicinity of correct about what those feelings might be."

He took a step closer to her and met her gaze. "But you left a few things out."

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "Such as?"

"You left out that I feel angry at myself for falling into Red John's trap in the first place. That I'm amazed at my own stupidity for not seeing it before I was well inside it. That I bitterly regret sleeping with her, not only because falling into the trap gave him the upper hand, but because I failed to anticipate how significant a wedge sleeping with her would drive between you and me." His eyes bored into her. "How I would give anything if I could remove that wedge. You left out my fear that I might not ever be able to convince you that I don't have romantic feelings for Lorelei and never did. How I've been wondering if I will ever be able to make you understand how much I love you – how long I've loved you."

Lisbon swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Because of the green t-shirt?" she said, referring to the infamous shirt she'd supposedly been wearing on June eighth, 2007.

He reached out and cupped her face in his palm. "Among other things," he agreed. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "It's always been you, Teresa," he whispered. "How can you not know that by now?"

"Because you're secretive and controlling," she murmured without venom, closing her eyes and leaning into him. "And you never said anything for ten years."

Jane grunted in protest. "I didn't say nothing. I said things."

Lisbon leaned back and regarded him skeptically. "You didn't even give me an inkling until after you blackmailed me into marrying you."

He found her hands and laced his fingers through hers. "I did tell you I loved you."

She made an unhappy noise. "Yeah, but you pretended to forget it."

"But I'm a notorious liar," Jane said. "You should have known I was telling the truth."

She gave him the fish eye. "That makes no sense."

"I was obviously lying about forgetting telling you I loved you," Jane said reasonably. "Ergo, I was clearly telling the truth when I said I loved you."

She shook her head. "Only in your twisted mind is that a logical interpretation of events."

He wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry about faking my kidnapping," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry."

Lisbon put her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. "I was so scared, Jane. I just—" she took a shaky breath. "Those six months…I already know what my life would be like without you. I never want to go through that again."

He tightened his arms around her. "Believe me," he said, his voice rough. "I know the feeling."

Lisbon thought about Jane, torn apart by guilt in so many ways. Unable to protect Lorelei and miserable because she, Lisbon, was so angry at him over his efforts to protect her. His persistent guilt over his failure to protect his family.

She turned her cheek into his shirt. Nestled fractionally closer to him.

And decided she didn't want to be another source of guilt in his life.

"You know," she mumbled into his chest. "It's really very annoying how I can never stay mad at you as long as I want to."

Jane pulled back and clutched at her upper arms, searching her face. "You—what?"

She tilted her head up. "Seriously. It's infuriating. Even when you're being a distant jerk, brooding about another woman, I can't stay properly angry at you—"

Jane inhaled sharply. "You mean—"

She pulled him down by the front of his shirt and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "I forgive you, idiot."

Jane inhaled sharply. "Really?" he said, threading his fingers through her hair and tilting her head back so he could search her face.

She bit her lip and nodded.

He started raining kisses down on her—on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "I—love—you," he said between kisses. He held her tighter. "I love you so much."

Lisbon took his hand and kissed his palm, just below his origami ring. "I love you, too."


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: This is a long author's note. If that's not your cup of tea, please feel free to skip to the story. Just want to give you fair warning.

A couple people reached out concerned because I hadn't posted last week. Thanks for checking in. The truth is that I've been feeling pretty emotional the past couple weeks about the news of George Floyd's death and the knowledge that what happened to him is only the latest, most visible example of what has been happening in my country for many, many years. And Rayshard Jones. And Breonna Taylor. And Ahmaud Arbery. And so many others. As a white person who has lived her whole life in a position of privilege, I know I can never truly understand what my black brothers and sisters have experienced their whole lives. I have been struggling trying to figure out how to be a good ally and I feel more confused than ever. It's easy to get emotionally overwhelmed and I have definitely felt the pull to retreat into the comforting land of fic just to get through the day. But I recognize that retreating is another privilege that not everyone has, and truthfully, it feels like a white comfort thing to do. Despite the fact that I finished this story a couple of months ago, it also feels strange at the moment to be sharing stories about heroic law enforcement officers. I don't believe all law enforcement officers are racist and I value those members of law enforcement who signed up to protect and serve. At the same time, even in the inconsequential land of fic, it feels wrong to venerate a system of justice that actively perpetuates violence against people of color and has been doing so since...forever. All this to say despite my love of the characters from this show, I have been questioning my own writing and what is appropriate to post publicly. For example, I have a scene about guns in this chapter that I don't think I would have written if I were writing this chapter today, despite the fact that in real life, I hate guns and would never want to live with one in the house.

I don't have the answers. I'm still struggling. For myself, for right now, here's where I've landed: first, mental health. Do what you need to do take care of yourself. Retreating a little from reality is ok if that's what you need to do, because how can we be effective anti-racists and social justice warriors if we're babbling to ourselves in the corner? But if your mental health isn't at risk, don't get too comfortable in that place of retreat. Make yourself uncomfortable. Listen. Examine your own role in perpetuating systemic racism. And find ways to fight against it.

Like I said, I don't have the answers. This is just the best I've come up with for myself to navigate a path forward after my own babbling to myself in a corner. Everyone has to figure out their own path for themselves. And for the love of God, if you do have the answers, please share with the class!

To any persons of color who may be reading - however clumsy and inept I may be, I stand with you. You matter to me.

xxxx

Lisbon went to work feeling much more optimistic the next morning. The situation with Lorelei was a setback, but she was confident that Jane would come up with some insane plan that he'd figure out how to rope the team into executing for him from afar. Who knew? Maybe Lorelei would get tired of being a punching bag and would give up Red John of her own volition. Lisbon wasn't gonna hold her breath on that point, but still. It was possible.

Jane, too, seemed much more cheerful that morning. He bustled around the kitchen, preparing an elaborate breakfast, and then packing each of them an equally elaborate lunch. In between, he couldn't stop touching her. A hand on her shoulder or at the small of her back as he reached past her to get something, a quick peck on the cheek or kiss to her temple as he brushed past her. He crowded her at the table, sitting so close she kept jostling him with her elbow as she ate. He rewarded each elbow to the ribs with a kiss to her hair or to her neck, and when he finished eating his own breakfast, he took possession of her hand and refused to give it up. Lisbon let him keep it and ate the rest of her breakfast left-handed.

When it was time to leave for work, Jane trapped her at the front door and kissed her thoroughly before reluctantly permitting her to leave.

Yes, things were definitely looking up.

Lisbon dreamily typed up an obituary for Mr. Nguesi, who'd died peacefully at the hospital at the age of ninety-eight, surrounded by friends and family. She didn't even lose her temper when Givens sent her out on another drudge assignment right before lunch. Instead, she decided to enjoy the opportunity to get out of the office on a beautiful day despite the tedious nature of the assignment.

She came back mid-afternoon, grabbed a cup of coffee, and headed back to her desk to type up her notes.

Heather stopped by her desk. "Here's the latest from the wires," she announced, setting down a printout on Lisbon's desk. She leaned on the corner of the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. "So—the other day," Heather said expectantly. "How much of that was actually true?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out," Lisbon muttered. She picked up the wire report and started to scan it absently. A political scandal in Washington. So what else was new?

"Seriously, that proposal—that sounded pretty real."

"It wasn't," Lisbon said, still scanning the wires. "I told you, we weren't even dating before we came out here."

Heather waved her hand dismissively. "I meant the words. That part sounded real."

_I want you to be sure of me._ The words came to Lisbon unbidden. She bit her lip, thinking again of all Jane had said and done for her since this whole nightmare had begun. Since she'd met him, really. "Oh, well—we've known each other a long time." Flustered, she attempted to redirect her attention back to the wire report.

"Uh-huh," Heather said, unimpressed. "And what was with that whole 'proposing after six weeks,' then?"

"No idea," Lisbon said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible and doing everything she could to focus on the wires. _June eighth, 2007_. No, the wires…an environmental conference in South Africa. A record breaking merger between two tech companies in Japan. A murder in California—

"All right, I won't ask about the daydreaming about children with dark hair and green eyes bit, then," Heather said, smirking. "That part pretty much speaks for itself, doesn't it?"

A murder in California. The blood drained from Lisbon's face. "Oh, God."

"Teresa?" Heather said, straightening in alarm. "What's wrong?"

Lisbon snapped back to attention. "I have to go," she said abruptly. She stood up, folded up the printout, and stuck it in her pocket. Then she grabbed her things and headed straight for the front door.

Heather followed. "What's the matter?" she repeated, struggling to keep up with her as Lisbon walked briskly to the door.

"I need to talk to Patrick," Lisbon answered grimly. "If Givens asks where I've gone, can you tell him I had a family emergency?"

"Sure, but—" Heather stopped, trying to catch her breath. But Lisbon was already gone.

Xxx

When Lisbon got to Jane's school, it was the tail end of the afternoon rush for parents to pick up the kids from school.

She found Jane before she got to the classroom—he had been supervising the afternoon pick up with a couple of the other teachers. She saw him pull a coin from a boy's ear as he buckled him into the back seat. Her heart clenched at the sight. A confusing onslaught of feeling assaulted her—affection and admiration for how wonderful Jane was with children of all ages mingled with a sudden longing to see him buckle a child with Jane's hair and her nose into a car seat, all mixed up with the anxiety and dread she felt over what she had to tell him.

Jane got the last child safely packed off with his mother and stood talking to a few of the other teachers as she approached.

He looked so happy, Lisbon thought with a pang. Smiling, his hands in his pockets as he told some story that had the other teachers in stitches. She slowed, reluctant to ruin his cheerful mood with the news she'd brought.

Jane spotted her then, and there was no more putting it off. "Teresa," he said, his face lighting up at the sight of her. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

He didn't give her a chance to respond, but pulled her into a bear hug and gave her a sweet, heartfelt kiss in greeting.

Lisbon didn't pull back the way she usually would have done in front of an audience, but melted into him, prolonging the kiss a few seconds longer.

The other teachers—all female—looked on with expressions torn between 'aw' and envy.

When they broke apart, Jane frowned at her. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" blurted out the youngest of the teachers, a young woman around Van Pelt's age. "How could anything be wrong after a hello like that?"

"Hear, hear," muttered one of the older teachers.

"Teresa doesn't usually tolerate public displays of affection," Jane told them, his arm still around Lisbon. Lisbon's mind involuntarily strayed to the time she'd practically molested him in the botanical gardens of Albuquerque. She supposed 'usually' was the operative word.

"The fact that she let me get away with a greeting like that must mean she's preparing me for bad news," Jane continued.

"If my husband kissed me like that, I'd never give him bad news again," said the third teacher sourly.

"She's also a workaholic, so her presence here in the middle of a workday should have alerted me to some sort of ominous occurrence or another," Jane informed them. He looked at Lisbon affectionately. "I was just so pleased to see her that I didn't immediately recognize the signs."

The youngest teacher sighed at the romantic scene before her. Lisbon restrained the urge to roll her eyes.

Still tucked into Jane's side, she fiddled with a button on his shirt. "Can I speak to you privately for a moment?" she muttered to Jane.

"Bad news it is," Jane sighed. "Will you excuse us for a minute, ladies?"

They chorused their assurances and Jane and Lisbon went to his classroom, hand in hand.

"What is it?" Jane said the minute the classroom door closed behind them. "Did something happen with Lorelei?"

"No," Lisbon said soberly. "Red John. He killed someone last night."

Jane tensed. "Who?"

Lisbon shrugged helplessly. "A woman named Trisha Lindsay. That's all I know. Do you know her?"

"No." Jane exhaled. "Does she have dark hair?"

Lisbon let go of his hand and frowned at him. "I have no idea. What does that matter?"

"She has your initials," Jane said grimly. "Let's just say it wouldn't surprise me if she turned out to have dark hair and green eyes. His way of telling me he's not pleased I haven't taken the bait he's laid out for me by having Lorelei send me those notes." He took a deep breath. "I think we need to prepare ourselves for the likelihood that he'll continue to escalate if he doesn't get the reaction he's looking for after this latest killing."

"Oh, my God," Lisbon said, sick with dismay as she processed the implications of this. She seized his arm. "Patrick, you have to go back."

Jane recoiled. "What?"

"You said it yourself," Lisbon said. "He's escalating. He's going to keep killing people until you give him what he wants. You have to go back to California to neutralize the threat."

Jane frowned. "I'm not letting him separate us."

"If it's the only way to stop him from killing more people, we have to take the chance."

Jane shook his head. "It's a trap. He's trying to split us up. If I go back to California, I'd be playing right into his hands."

"It would only be until after the trial," Lisbon argued. "Then I'll be back in California, too, and we can find a way to stop him together."

"Isn't giving him what he wants the serial killer equivalent of negotiating with terrorists?" Jane said. "Me being in California never stopped him from killing before. He might slow down a bit, but he's never going to stop killing of his own volition."

"It would buy us time," Lisbon said. "Save who knows how many lives while we work on a plan to put an end to this for good."

"Unless he's trying to draw me back to California just to isolate you here so it's easier for him to come after you," Jane said stubbornly.

"Even if he is, I'm only one person," Lisbon insisted. "We have to think about all the innocent lives at stake here."

"Don't be absurd," Jane said sharply. "Of course you aren't only one person. Don't you understand that? If he takes you, there are only two possible outcomes. If he kills you, I'd be out of the picture. I'd be destroyed and he knows it. Without the two of us to stop him, he'd have free rein to kill as many people as he'd like."

Lisbon opened her mouth to protest, but Jane cut her off.

"That's not even the worst case scenario," he continued grimly. "He's already indicated he wants me to be one of his disciples. If he takes you, it's far more likely that he'd hold you as leverage. He could ask me to do clean up his dirty work, to kill for him. Anything. If he gets his hands on you, I'll be completely at his mercy."

Lisbon stared at him with dawning horror. "Patrick, if that ever happens—you know I would never want you to hurt an innocent person just to save my own life, don't you?"

Jane nodded. "I do know that."

Lisbon breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I want you to promise me you'll never let someone else be hurt by him out of some misguided effort to protect me."

"No," Jane said simply. "I can't promise you that, Teresa. I'd do anything in my power to protect you. Anything." He looked at her unhappily. "So you see, you're not only one person, Teresa."

Lisbon swallowed hard, a sick feeling forming in her stomach at the thought of Jane's considerable intellect and unique skillset at Red John's disposal. "So what are we going to do?" she asked helplessly.

Jane sighed. "I need to think about this a bit more. And we should call Montrose and Soren. Talk through a strategy to keep your family and the team safe."

Lisbon glanced at him in surprise. "You trust them enough for this?"

Jane nodded. "Like it or not, our hands are tied while we're still in Salt Lake. We need their help to keep the others safe."

Lisbon nodded, so surprised by the idea of Jane being willing to cede even the smallest fraction of control to anyone else when it came to Red John that she couldn't immediately come up with any other response.

Jane pulled her into another hug, burying his face in her hair.

She closed her eyes and leaned against him, drawing inexpressible comfort from the sensation of his arms around her. "God," she murmured into his chest. "Is this ever going to end?"

"We're going to stop him," Jane said, kissing her hair. He rubbed her back comfortingly. "I have plans for you, you know. I'm not going to give Red John the opportunity to interfere with those plans if I can help it."

"Deal," Lisbon said, tightening her hold on him.

He kissed the top of her head again. "Come on. Let's go home."

Xxx

Soren and Montrose met them at the house.

After updating them on the latest Red John murder and its implications, the four of them spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening hashing out a strategy to increase the protection around Lisbon's family and the team. Jane contributed several outlandish but admittedly clever ideas to ensure none of Red John's followers would be able to penetrate their defenses, but he was distracted throughout, half his attention elsewhere. Lisbon was grateful for his support and greatly reassured that the people she cared about would stay safe thanks in large part to Jane's gift for strategizing. She knew that big brain of his was busy processing several angles at once, so she focused on coordinating the logistics with Montrose and Soren and let him stew over the matter in peace.

Jane grew more and more restless as the hours passed. When Montrose and Soren left, he turned to Lisbon. "I need to clear my head so I can think through this a bit more. I'm going to take a walk. Do you want to join me?"

Pleased that he'd asked, Lisbon nonetheless shook her head. "I need to call Cho on the burner. I want to get his take on the murder, see if the team learned anything that could be useful when they processed the scene."

Jane nodded. "Okay. Let me know what he says." He kissed her. "I won't be later than ten. Lock the doors behind me, okay?"

"Will do," Lisbon said, amazed but relieved that he'd provided a specific time he expected to return. She kissed him back. "See you soon."

Lisbon spoke to Cho for an hour, discussing the particulars of the Trisha Lindsay case and passing along Jane's theories as well as her own. After getting off the phone, she spent another hour and a half reviewing the notes and photos from the case file Van Pelt had sent through the secure account at Cho's request.

She was busy writing notes to herself on the case when Jane returned a few minutes before ten.

"Hey," she greeted him absently, her nose still in her notebook. "Got an update from Cho. Van Pelt sent the case file, too, if you want to take a look. They're going to look for women that match my general physical description and put as many of them as they can find under protective surveillance."

"Sounds good," Jane responded, setting down a non-descript blue backpack down on the dining table next to her with a thunk. "Tell them to focus on professional women near the top of their fields. Especially social workers, lawyers, and anyone else who works in a field related to the criminal justice system."

"Okay," Lisbon said, making a note to herself. She glanced at the backpack curiously. "What's this?" He hadn't been carrying it when he left.

Jane unzipped the backpack and took out five guns, laying them out on the table in a neat line. "I decided it was time we finally replenished your arsenal." He pointed to the first three, a Sig Sauer P938, a Smith & Wesson M&P 9 Shield, and a Ruger LCP. "These three are registered to Teresa Meyers."

Lisbon lifted the Smith & Wesson admiringly. "I've always wanted one of these." She set it down and nodded to the other two, a Kel-Tec PMR-30 and a Glock 19. "What about the others?"

"This one's for me," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he indicated the Kel-Tec. He never had liked guns. He pointed at the Glock. "This one's yours."

She checked the barrels. "The serial numbers have been filed off," she observed.

"Unregistered and untraceable," he said. "Just in case."

Lisbon sighed, the law enforcement officer in her displeased at the notion of unregistered weapons in anyone's possession, let alone her and Jane's. She made no protest, however, resigned to the practical necessity of the situation. "I don't even want to know how you got hold of these on such short notice."

He shrugged. "It always pays to keep your ear to the ground." He gestured at the collection of guns on the table. "Where do you want to keep these?"

They discussed several options and settled on a few key locations after Lisbon, horrified by Jane's ignorance on the subject of gun safety, flatly overruled his last idea. She insisted she'd take him to the range the next day to make sure he knew how to operate the one he'd selected for himself without accidentally blowing his own foot off. He'd arranged a conceal carry permit for her, and they agreed she would keep that one on her person at all times.

"I'll put the others away," Lisbon said, reaching for the arsenal as she started to rise from the table.

"Just a minute," Jane said, laying two gentle fingers on her wrist to stop her. "There's something else I want to discuss with you."

Lisbon sat back down. "Is it about Lorelei?" she said, her voice low. "Cho said she turned up with a new injury today. A smiley face cut into her leg. He said the doctors told him whoever did it packed the cut with ash." She swallowed. "To make sure the cut will scar, no matter what the doctors do to treat it. Lorelei told Cho she expects to receive a new one for every day you refuse to come see her."

"I don't want to talk about Lorelei," Jane said firmly.

Lisbon studied him intently. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm not going back to California."

She looked at him oddly. "You said that before. But Patrick—are you sure? He's obviously not going to stop until you come out of hiding."

"I'm sure," Jane said. "I'm not going." He took her hand and fixed his gaze on her. "You're more important."

Lisbon swallowed. "Patrick—I appreciate what you're saying. But if you could stop him—"

Jane cut her off. "No." He squeezed her hand and repeated, "You're more important. Do you understand?"

"I—" She stared at him, the words failing to compute. "Patrick, that's—that's—"

He smiled ruefully. "Music to your ears?"

Impossible to believe, she thought to herself, but quashed the thought down. Jane had come here with her, after all. He'd effectively abandoned his revenge the moment he'd insisted on following her into WITSEC. In fact, she realized, he'd put her first in every way imaginable since the moment they'd left Sacramento. She thought about the rifle Jane had picked up to shoot Tanner. Of all the times he'd gone out of his way to help her, to cheer her up, during all the years she'd known him. To be there for her in every way he knew how. Since the very beginning.

She leaned forward and kissed him. She tried to put everything she felt into that kiss, because she didn't have the words to express what his words meant to her.

He kissed her back fervently, burying his hands in her hair and angling his head to deepen the kiss.

She pressed closer.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: First of all, you are all wonderful. Thank you so much for your messages last week. They helped a lot.

A/N2: We're finally closing in on this thing! Only two chapters to go after this one. Thanks for sticking with my long-windedness yet again.

xxx

When Lisbon got home from work the next evening, she met Montrose at the front door, on the point of knocking. "Hey," Lisbon greeted her, stepping past her to open the door. She gestured for Montrose to enter. "Come on in."

"We have a problem," Montrose announced before she'd even crossed the threshold.

"Another one?" Lisbon said in dismay, stepping back to let Montrose in. Her heart stopped. "Not—with my brothers? The team?"

"Nothing like that," Montrose assured her as she entered. "This is about you."

"Oh," Lisbon said, relieved. She shut the door behind Montrose. "What is it?"

"Is that Montrose?" Jane called from the kitchen. "Don't keep whatever bad news she's brought to yourself, Teresa. Bring her into the kitchen so we can all appreciate the latest dire development properly. Together, with a cup of tea—"

Lisbon snorted.

"—and cookies," Jane finished.

"What is it with him and tea?" Montrose asked Lisbon in an undertone. "Why can't he just drink coffee like a normal person?"

Lisbon shook her head. "Don't ask."

Montrose walked into the kitchen. "What kind of cookies?"

"Oatmeal chocolate chip," Jane answered.

Montrose looked at Lisbon, who had followed her to the kitchen. "I guess I can live with the tea thing."

Lisbon took one of the cookies for herself and sat down at one of the kitchen bar stools. "So what's up?"

Montrose helped herself to a cookie and sat down next to Lisbon. "Your article's going to be picked up by one of the nationals."

"What?" Lisbon said, perplexed.

"Your article on Dorothy Ramseth," Montrose said, taking a huge bite of cookie. "It's going to be run by one of the national papers."

Lisbon frowned. "Isn't that—well, old news by now?"

Montrose shook her head. "This publication does a monthly round up of excellence in reporting across the country."

Lisbon straightened in her seat. "Really?" she said, pleased.

Montrose looked at her, exasperated. "This isn't good news. It's a potential compromise to your cover."

Lisbon deflated with a frown. "How?"

"They're planning to run a photo with your byline," Montrose said gloomily.

"Ohhh," Lisbon said, realization dawning. She knew most publications did this as a matter of course, but the one she worked for in Salt Lake was small and old-fashioned enough that it didn't typically print photos of the reporting staff along with their features. But if Red John happened to read one of the major papers and came across her article with her photo displayed along with her fake name…yeah. Not the best means of keeping her cover intact.

Jane started to laugh. "I told you this would happen," he said to Montrose, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?" Montrose said, frowning at him.

"She can't help it," he said, gesturing to Lisbon. He looked at her affectionately. "She's too heroic for her own good. But really, what'd you expect when you stuck an over-achiever with an overdeveloped need to help people in a profession that contains a platform to oust corruption and take down purveyors of injustice?"

"This is serious," Montrose said, frustrated.

"Maddeningly inconvenient, isn't it?" Jane said to Montrose sympathetically. His eyes, soft with affection and somewhat exasperated, stayed on Lisbon.

Lisbon threw a wadded up paper napkin at him. "Hush."

Jane shrugged. "Just sayin'."

"So what are we going to do?" Lisbon asked Montrose.

"What's the big deal?" Jane asked, coming around the table and taking a seat next to Lisbon. "Can't you just ask them to publish the story without the photograph?"

"Not without raising suspicion," Montrose said. "What reason could Teresa give for not sending a photo of herself along with the article when they ask for it?"

Jane shrugged. "She can tell them she was horribly disfigured in an accident and now rather camera shy as a result."

Lisbon shot him a look. "Horribly disfigured?"

"Focus, dear," Jane said soothingly.

"I don't think so," Montrose said. "They're going to make the request through the paper. The people you work with know you aren't horribly disfigured."

"They're going to make the request through the paper?" Lisbon repeated. "How do you even know about this, then?"

"We have a source at AP who tipped us off," Montrose explained.

Lisbon thought of Heather, who excelled at altering images with graphics software. She'd done one of Givens the week before that had had the entire office in stitches. "What about Photoshop?" she suggested. "Can't you have the techs make me look, you know, not like myself?"

"That might work," Montrose said slowly. "It would have to be subtle enough that the people you work with would recognize you as you, but drastic enough that someone reading the paper wouldn't recognize it as you."

Jane frowned. "That's a fine line to tread. Can't you just—switch out the photo for a complete stranger? Then claim it's a mix up?"

"I don't think we'll be able to control a switch at the last minute like that," Montrose said. "I think the Photoshop idea could work, though."

Jane's frown deepened. "It seems awfully risky to me."

"Let me check with the techs," Montrose said. "I'm sure they can come up with something."

Lisbon slipped her hand into Jane's. "Don't worry. It's gonna be okay."

Jane looked down at their joined hands and let out a sigh. "If you say so." But he did not look reassured.

Xxx

Lisbon was pleased with the photograph the techs came up with. In her opinion, she looked thoroughly unlike herself. In the photograph they'd sent, she had red hair, brown eyes, and wore trendy looking black-framed glasses. They'd also put her in flashier clothing than she normally wore and altered the image to make her lips a bit thinner than they were in reality; her nose, a shade wider. Mostly, though, she was pleased that she was prepared when Hollis announced that the article was going to be picked up for the series and asked her to send the photograph by noon that day.

The article came out the next day, to much fanfare at the office that Lisbon found thoroughly embarrassing.

"Whoa, Meyers," Kirby said with an idiotic grin, looking back and forth between the photo in the paper and Lisbon herself. "You got some work done since this was taken, huh?" He gave her the 'a-okay' sign. "You tell your doctor he did good." He shook his head, still grinning idiotically. "Damn."

Lisbon bit back a scathing retort and turned her attention to Heather, who looked highly amused.

"Nice bit of Photoshop work," Heather said under her breath, pulling Lisbon away from Kirby before he incited her to violence. "You have to do that for your cover?"

"Yeah," Lisbon muttered back, shooting a glare at Kirby over her shoulder. "I got the idea from you, actually. You're really good at that stuff."

"Aww, thanks," Heather said with a grin. She eyed her own copy of the paper critically. "You know, you look good as a redhead. You ever think about dyeing it?"

Lisbon grimaced. "I'm lucky if I can manage to get it cut at all, the hours I work."

Heather's grin faded. "In your real life, you mean."

"Well—yeah," Lisbon said awkwardly.

Heather looked at the photo again, her expression downcast. "You said the trial's in a couple of weeks?"

Lisbon nodded.

"Bet you can't wait," Heather said wistfully.

Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, I'm really looking forward to having two killers compete over who gets to kill me."

Heather gestured dismissively. "Come on, you know what I mean. Going back to your regular life. Your real friends."

"I don't know," Lisbon said, looking down. "Part of me wants to go back. I hate lying to everyone about who I really am. That part will be a relief." She bit her lip. "And I do miss my job. But there are definitely things I'll miss about here." The little house she shared with Jane. The less manic, obsessive version of Jane she'd been graced with since they'd left California. She felt a pang in her chest. He'd been so wonderful. But she couldn't shake the fear that the minute they got back to their old lives, Jane would revert to his usual obsessive self. Retreating to the attic and brooding over how to outwit Red John.

She shook off her gloom and mustered a smile. She put her arm around Heather and gave her a one-armed hug. "I'll miss you the most, you know."

Heather turned into her and wrapped both arms around her, burying her face in Lisbon's shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you so much," Heather said, sniffling a little into Lisbon's shoulder. "And you're going back to your old life and you're going to forget all about me."

"That's not going to happen," Lisbon said firmly, hugging her back. She lifted Heather's chin and looked her in the eye. "What about that beach vacation, huh? I can at least take you to the riverbank. I can't say the Sacramento River generally draws a lot of tourists. You might be the first one."

"Yeah," Heather sniffed, drawing away and wiping her eyes. "Okay."

"It's a deal then. As long as I'm still alive in a few months, you'll come visit," Lisbon joked.

Heather looked stricken rather than amused. "God. It didn't really seem real, before. It all felt like something out of a movie when you first told me, you know? I think part of me assumed the Hollywood ending was a given. But you really have people trying to kill you." She swallowed hard. "You could die. You're risking your life to put that Scalzi guy in jail and catch a serial killer."

"I'm a cop," Lisbon said. "I know what I signed up for. For me, the risk is worth it to keep them from hurting anybody else. And I have a lot of good people on my side." Montrose. Soren. Her team. And Jane. Most of all, Jane. She gave Heather an encouraging smile. "I wouldn't bet against us."

Xxx

"Where have you been?" Jane demanded when she got home that night, accosting her in the entry hall.

Lisbon glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn't _that_ late. "Heather and I went for a drink after work. We don't have a lot of time before we're leaving Salt Lake, so I wanted to spend some extra time with her before—"

"Never mind that," Jane said impatiently. He thrust a newspaper in front of her. It was the reprint of her article. "Did you see this?" He tapped his finger against the photo they'd printed next to her byline.

Lisbon glanced down at it. "What about it?"

"It looks too much like you."

"Montrose and the techs thought it was fine," Lisbon said soothingly.

Jane pointed at the photo again, still radiating anxiety. "They forgot to edit out the freckle on your neck."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "First of all, that photo is tiny. No one is going to be inspecting it for freckles. Secondly, even if they did, no one is going to recognize me based on a single freckle."

"It's a very distinctive freckle!"

"Patrick, you're being ridiculous."

"I know what I'm talking about," Jane said stubbornly. "I've spent a lot of time admiring it over the years."

"Well, you've always been addled in the head," Lisbon muttered.

A knock on the door interrupted them before Jane could build up a good head of steam on the subject.

They looked at each other, then Lisbon turned back to the door she'd just walked through a moment ago. "Must be Montrose," she said, laying her hand on the door handle. "Probably more bad news."

"Wait," Jane said, panicked. He laid a hand over hers and shouldered her out of the way so he could look out the peephole. "It's not Montrose," he said, his voice tight.

Lisbon tensed. "Well? Who is it?"

Jane ignored this. "Do you have your gun on you?"

"Yeah, of course—"

"Draw it." His tone brooked no argument.

Alerted by his tone, Lisbon drew her weapon without further argument and positioned herself to the side of the door so she would be in the best place to take down an armed intruder.

"I'm going to open the door now," Jane said, his voice flat.

"Are you crazy?" Lisbon hissed. "If it's someone you suspect of being dangerous, why the hell would you open the door?"

Jane waved her off. He turned the handle.

Lisbon drew back to put herself in the shadows so she could take whoever it was by surprise if needed.

When Jane pulled the door open, a man in brown shirt and brown shorts stood on the other side, a large envelope in his hand. "Express delivery," the man said in a bored voice.

Lisbon lowered her weapon and silently cursed Jane. The mailman? Seriously?

The delivery man extended the envelope towards Jane. "Need you to sign for this."

Jane looked at the envelope suspiciously, then back at the delivery man. "Do you have any identification?"

The man blinked. "Identification?"

"Yes. Something that proves you really work for this delivery service," Jane said tightly.

"Uh, sure," the man said, looking confused. He produced a badge and handed it to Jane.

Jane inspected it carefully. "How long have you worked for this delivery service?"

"What the hell, man?"

"Answer the question," Jane said sharply.

"Six years," the man answered, staring at Jane like he had two heads.

"What's your mother's name?" Jane demanded.

"Donna," the man said, even more confused now.

"Got a girlfriend?"

The man cleared his throat. "Not, uh, not at the moment."

"What's your favorite video game?"

The man edged backwards. "Uh…Call of Duty, I guess?"

Jane leaned into his personal space. "Give me your wrist," he ordered.

The delivery guy drew his hand to his chest protectively. "Why do you want my wrist?"

"I want to feel your pulse so I can tell if you're lying," Jane said severely.

"About my favorite video game?" the man said, bewildered.

Lisbon decided this had gone on long enough. She stepped forward. "That's enough, Patrick," she said firmly, pulling him away from the man. "Leave him alone." She offered the man an apologetic smile. "Sorry about this," she said, jerking her head towards Jane. "He gets carried away sometimes."

The delivery man relaxed a fraction. "That's okay," he said, tentatively returning her smile. He looked back and forth between them. "Do you, uh, want your letter now?"

"I'll take it," Lisbon said, before Jane could decide to hypnotize the poor man.

He handed her the letter, casting a wary glance at Jane as he did so. Jane, still holding on to his badge, glared at him.

Suddenly, he darted around Lisbon and seized the other man's wrist. "Where'd you pick this up from?" he demanded.

"From central processing, downtown," the man said, his eyes wide. He leaned away from Jane as he possibly could while Jane still grasped his wrist.

"Patrick, let him go," Lisbon said, exasperated.

Jane abruptly let the man go. "He's telling the truth," he said curtly.

The man stumbled backwards, then righted himself. "Can I have my badge back now?" he said, drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster.

Jane pointedly studied the badge a moment longer, then reluctantly handed it back.

"You said you needed us to sign for it?" Lisbon reminded the delivery man.

The man cast a frightened glance at Jane. "Yeah." He extended a clipboard to Lisbon, keeping a wary eye on Jane the whole time.

Lisbon signed the receipt and handed the clipboard back to him. He tore off the carbon copy underneath it and handed it back to her in turn, still watching Jane, who had his arms folded across his chest and met his gaze with a stony stare.

Lisbon elbowed him in the ribs and gave the delivery guy another smile. "Thanks!"

"Have a good one," the man muttered, and retreated hastily back to his truck.

Lisbon turned to Jane and smacked him in the arm with the envelope. "What the hell was that about? Can't you even answer the door like a normal person?"

Jane ignored this. "Does that envelope have a return address?"

"What? I—" Lisbon glanced down and frowned. "No. Hang on," she said slowly. "Who's sending us mail? Nobody has this address."

"Exactly," Jane said grimly.

The buzz of a text alert on her phone in her pocket distracted her before she could open the envelope. She pulled her phone out, but there were no messages. No, it had been the other pocket—the one with the burner.

Dread pooled in her stomach.

She pulled out the burner and flipped it open. A single message from the number she recognized as belonging to Cho's burner flashed on the screen. She opened it. _Our smiling friend broke LM out of jail this morning. We're looking, but so far no sign of either of them. They're in the wind._

The dread curdled in her stomach, making her feel ill. Lisbon looked up at Jane.

"What's it say?" Jane said, defeat in his voice.

Lisbon swallowed. "Red John broke Lorelei out of jail this morning."

Jane shook his head but didn't look surprised. "We'd better open that envelope."

Lisbon looked at the front of the envelope, stamped with a blazing red seal indicating 'same day delivery.' The article had just come out that morning in the national paper. "Oh, no," she breathed. She opened the envelope with shaking hands.

A copy of the article fell out. Along with it, a sheet of paper with a type written note and a postcard.

Jane stepped closer to her and they read together.

The photograph of Lisbon in the article was outlined in a heart drawn with a red marker. Beneath it, scrawled in the same red marker, were the words, 'Nice try.'

The type written note read as follows:

_You didn't really think you could hide from me forever, did you, Mr. Jane? Not to worry. I'll allow you to pass your remaining time in Salt Lake together without any interference from me. Please do make the most of these last couple of weeks of your honeymoon. It will be good for you to have some fond memories to look back on once you've joined me, after your return. Think of it as my wedding gift to you. My regards to Teresa. Tell her I look forward to getting better acquainted with her soon._

The familiar signature followed: the red smiley face, drawn in the same red marker.

Jane and Lisbon exchanged a look, heavy with despair, then turned their attention to the card.

The postcard was printed on plain white card stock. On the side where a photo would normally be printed was a lipstick print in blood red. The other side contained only a single line.

_See you at the trial, lover._


	33. Chapter 33

Lisbon glanced at the clock and resumed pacing in the hotel room. Any minute now, Montrose would come collect them to take them to the courthouse. After all this time, she was finally going to testify against Scalzi.

"Relax. You're gonna be fine," Jane said to her from his position on stretched out on the couch, but he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than her. His attempt to soothe her fell short of the mark, given his own persistent tension the past two weeks.

Lisbon shot him an incredulous look, then resumed pacing. _Hypocrite_, she grumbled to herself silently.

Soren, in an armchair by the door, turned a page in his newspaper and said nothing.

The past two weeks had not been enjoyable. After being abruptly pulled from their Salt Lake covers and then being stuck in close quarters in a hotel outside L.A. for two weeks, both of their nerves were frayed. Jane, now in a constant state of paranoia thanks to Red John's express delivery, refused to let Lisbon spend more than two minutes outside his company. Though Lisbon loved Jane very much, she found being locked in a small room with him for twenty-four hours a day with no time for herself constituted a little too much togetherness for her taste. The horde of agents from the U.S. Marshals Service who refused to let her poke her head out of doors without going on high alert didn't help her general feeling of suffocation. Their constant presence made it very difficult to forget even for a moment that her life was under threat on multiple fronts. In short, it hadn't been the most relaxing couple of weeks.

Jane, despite being perfectly aware that he was driving her crazy, hadn't relented in the slightest when it came to giving her space. Instead, he insisted on accompanying her to trial prep meetings and offering critiques of her testimony in between poring over architectural diagrams of every building within a five block radius of the courthouse and interrogating the marshals about the security measures they'd put in place for the day of the trial. When not engaged in these activities or hovering around her obsessively, he sat in a corner and brooded, presumably formulating a series of ever more unlikely plans to bring Red John to justice at last.

Lisbon, for her part, found that the closer they got to the trial date, the less interest she felt in the subject of her own personal safety. Instead, she was plagued by thoughts of what Jane would do if by some miracle they got through the trial unscathed. He'd made a grand gesture, refusing to go back to California after the murder of Trisha Lindsay. And following her into hiding in the first place, Lisbon reminded herself. But if they got through the trial, she couldn't see how they could keep this little fantasy life they'd started in Salt Lake going. They'd be back on Red John's home turf. And Red John had raised the stakes by threatening her directly. Jane would never be able to truly commit to her unless and until Red John was out of the picture for good. After effectively having Jane all to herself—the pretend Jane, she reminded herself sternly, the one that drove a Prius—for these past couple of months, Lisbon didn't know how she could bear to go back to a Jane that retreated to the attic to obsess about his nemesis and cut her out of all his most important plans.

Jane cocked his head on the sofa pillow and studied her. "You okay?" he said, his brow furrowed.

"Fine," she said shortly, and continued pacing.

He got up and stretched, then crossed the room to disrupt her pacing. "What's going on?"

Lisbon made a frustrated noise as he blocked her path, but she stopped pacing. She glared at him. "Nothing."

"You've been pretty quiet, the past couple of weeks," he observed.

Lisbon avoided his gaze. "I just want this stupid trial to be over with."

He searched her face. "Interesting puzzle you present. Lies and truth all mixed together."

Lisbon let out a huff of frustration and looked around at the furniture in the hotel room. "You know, not a single chair in here is bolted to the floor," she said pointedly.

Soren, behind them, let out a snort, then hastily adjusted his paper so his face was thoroughly hidden behind it.

Jane ignored the imminent danger of injury by chair and stepped closer. "Teresa—"

The door to the hotel room opened, and Montrose came in. "It's time," she announced, her shoulders tense.

A jolt of nerves shot through Lisbon's stomach. But she'd meant what she'd said. She just wanted this to be over with. She squared her shoulders. "Let's go."

Montrose handed them both Kevlar vests. Jane grimaced, but put his on without arguing. Lisbon put hers on, the ritual of tightening the straps oddly soothing.

Flanked by a team of six marshals, including Montrose and Soren, Jane and Lisbon headed down the stairwell to the ground floor of the lobby.

Jane slipped his hand into hers. "You have all your guns, right?" he asked anxiously.

Lisbon gave him a terse nod. Montrose had cleared it with courthouse security after Jane had made enough of a nuisance of himself that it seemed less work to deal with the paperwork than to continually assure Jane that the marshals had Lisbon's safety well in hand and that she wouldn't need her own gun.

Jane released a shaky breath and tightened his grip on her hand. "Good," he muttered, breathing in deeply again. "That's good."

Despite her near perpetual state of annoyance with him over the past two weeks, Lisbon's heart went out to him. She squeezed his hand back. Jane straightened his spine.

The marshals crowded around the two of them in a tight circle. Montrose walked immediately in front of Lisbon, Soren, directly behind. Jackson and Peters covered Lisbon and Jane to the left and right, with Mendoza leading the group and Graham bringing up the rear.

Montrose and Soren had driven Lisbon and Jane up from the place they'd been staying for the past two weeks early that morning. The other marshals had stayed in the hotel where they'd spent the morning, staking out the hotel and assessing the area immediately surrounding it for threats. The hotel was immediately across the street from the courthouse. The plan was to spend as little time as possible in the open space between the hotel and the courthouse entrance as the marshals escorted Jane and Lisbon to the trial.

Once they reached the ground floor, the group was silent except the sound of footfalls and the shifting of clothing and weaponry. They walked the long, narrow tunnel to the service exit in muted tension.

Lisbon tensed as they prepared to step outside, but before Montrose could lay a hand on the door, the radio clipped to the marshal's shoulder crackled to life. Montrose listened, then swore. "There's a bunch of press waiting on the courthouse steps," she grumbled. "Alpha team reports they need extra help controlling the crowd before we bring you out."

Great, Lisbon thought without enthusiasm.

"Mendoza, Graham, and Peters, you're with me," Montrose barked. "Jackson and Soren drop back and cover the stairs to make sure no one comes down until we come back." She looked at Jane and Lisbon. "Wait here."

Jane and Lisbon nodded, both tense with anticipation. God, Lisbon just wanted this whole thing to be over with.

Montrose went out the door, followed by Mendoza, Graham, and Peters. Jackson and Soren faded back into the stairwell, leaving Jane and Lisbon standing before the door.

Jane fidgeted again. "You _definitely_ have all your guns?" he asked Lisbon, shooting an anxious glance back towards Jackson and Soren.

"Yeah," Lisbon said tightly, her mind elsewhere.

"And they're all loaded?" Jane double-checked. "You can get to them easily?"

"Leave it, Jane," she snapped. "You think I don't know how to manage my gear in a dangerous situation?"

"Sorry," Jane said, backing down. "Of course not. Poster girl for the NRA, you could be giving everyone else lessons. You're the Terminator, everyone else is just back up."

Lisbon cut off his babbling. "Do you want this to be real?" she asked abruptly, turning to face him. "Really real?"

Jane stared at her. "Are you kidding me? Do you really want to have this conversation _now_?"

"You're the one who wanted to talk before," Lisbon said, stony faced.

Jane shook his head. "I thought we'd settled this."

"Yeah, but it's different now. We're going back. You're going to be in Red John's grasp again."

"As long as I can keep _you_ out of his grasp, that doesn't matter," he said dismissively.

"Of course it matters," she snapped. She voiced her real fear. "You're going to pull away."

"I told you," he said tightly. "You're my priority now."

Lisbon shook her head. "Maybe now, while we're away from Sacramento. But when we go back, we won't be able to just—ignore him."

"I have no intention of ignoring him," Jane said, annoyed. "You're talking about the man who asked me to bring him my wife's head in a box."

"We weren't married when he did that," Lisbon pointed out.

Jane looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "What the hell difference does that make?"

"I'm just saying," Lisbon muttered.

"Not two weeks ago, he sent an explicit threat to your life via _express delivery,_" Jane said, not the least bit mollified. "What did you think I was going to do? Just sit back and let him come after you without lifting a finger to stop him? Have you _met me?_"

"I'm not talking about my safety," Lisbon said stubbornly. "I want to know what you're planning to do when we get back."

Jane set his jaw. "I'm going to stop him."

"Yeah," Lisbon said bitterly. "That's what I thought."

Jane frowned. "What…what is happening right now? What are you talking about?"

"_You're_ going to stop him," she repeated. "Where am I in that picture? Tagging along behind you as your faithful sidekick?"

Jane backtracked. "That's not what I meant."

"It's exactly what you meant. That's the problem." She took a deep breath. "Look, it's been nice, playing house, these past couple of months. But there's no point pretending that we'll be able to keep up this happy couples routine once we go back to our real lives."

He looked at her sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know you, Patrick. Once we're back at the CBI, you're going to get sucked straight back into this messed up game of wits between you and Red John."

His voice was desperate now. "He threatened your life, Teresa. I need to stop him."

She sighed, defeated. "Yeah, I know. And I'll be there to help you. But I don't think I can be with you while I'm doing it." She clenched her fists against the pain of saying it aloud. The rose ring and the origami ring cut into her skin from the pressure, compounding the agony.

"Because you think I'm going to pull away," he said flatly. "So you thought you'd get the drop on me and pull away first, is that it?"

"I'm just saying—do what you need to do. I won't stop you. But I'm not going to sit at home at night waiting for you to come home from the latest con you've decided to run without me."

"I'm not going to leave you out," he protested. "I promised I would keep you involved."

"Yeah. And then you decided to fake your own disappearance without telling me. I know where this road leads, Patrick. Can you really blame me for not wanting to travel down it, knowing what's waiting for me at the end?"

Jane winced. "I know I've hurt you. I've—made mistakes. A lot of them. But I'm committed to doing better, Teresa." He stepped closer to her. "I'm committed to you."

She wanted to believe him more than anything in the world. She looked up into his eyes, uncertainty warring with bone-deep longing.

He met her gaze, his heart in his eyes, clear and unhidden. "I can't give you up," he said quietly. "I'm in too deep. I know I've messed up, but—I've been trying."

She swallowed. "I know you have."

Desperation colored his voice. "What more can I do, Teresa? I've done everything I can think of, and it's still not enough, apparently." He stepped closer and cupped his hands under her elbows, searching her face. "How many tests do I have to pass before you will be sure of me?"

With a sick, hot feeling of shame, Lisbon realized she _had_ been testing him. All this time. And he'd passed every single one. Jane had already taken the leap of faith, when he'd left Red John behind for her sake in the first place.

She needed to return the favor.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him, letting her own desperation come through. "I'm sorry," she whispered against his mouth. "No more tests. When we make mistakes, we'll muddle through them together."

Jane wrapped his arms around her and lifted her clear off the ground, holding her as tightly as he could with the two layers of Kevlar between them. Despite the Kevlar, she could feel him shaking in relief. He tightened his hold on her. "You've got yourself a deal."

She kissed him again, laughing a little this time. "Come on. Let's go deal with Scalzi. We'll worry about Red John when the trial is over."

Jane set her down but couldn't resist leaning over and kissing her hair the minute her feet were back on the ground. "One killer at a time," he commented, beaming. "Very sensible approach, my dear."

She smacked him in his Kevlar-covered stomach, but couldn't hide her smile.

The door to the service entrance opened, flooding the doorway with blinding light. "We're all set," Montrose called to Jackson and Soren. She gestured for the team to resume their positions clustered around Jane and Lisbon, taking her own place immediately before Lisbon. She checked her watch. "Go," she ordered. Mendoza pushed open the door and the group sprang into action, walking swiftly.

It wasn't a great distance. Less than fifty yards from the service exit to the courthouse steps, then another thirty yards from the foot of the steps to the main entrance to the courthouse.

Mendoza pushed the door open and they were through, walking as swiftly as possible away from the hotel and towards the courthouse entrance. The marshals closed in on Lisbon and Jane even tighter, weapons drawn and their heads on swivels.

The street in front of the courthouse had been blocked off to cars due to the high profile nature of the trial, but the street was still crowded with pedestrians. Jane gripped Lisbon's hand as they wove through the crowd, his eyes scanning every face he could see for a potential threat.

Lisbon could see a mass of reporters on the steps in front of the courthouse, another dozen people scattered about the steps, carrying briefcases and clustered in small groups, probably lawyers and other courthouse staff. They weren't far from the steps now.

Her foot had just hit the bottom step when she felt Jane slow to a stop, his hand in hers holding her back. She looked back at him in alarm. "Jane, what are you doing?"

The rest of the marshals prodded at Jane, but he didn't budge. Much to their collective displeasure, they were forced to a stop. Realizing the group had come to an unexpected halt, Montrose turned. "What's happening?" she demanded. "We have to keep moving—do you have any idea how exposed we are out here?"

But Jane wasn't listening. He was frozen, his eyes fixed in horror on a figure at the top of the steps. Lisbon turned to see what he was looking at.

Lorelei stood at the top of the steps, wearing a silk blouse and designer trousers, slouching elegantly as though she were modeling for a fashion shoot for a law magazine.

"Sheep dip," Lisbon muttered, her eyes fixed on Lorelei in dismay.

Time slowed down.

Lorelei smirked, then lifted her palm to her lips and blew them both a kiss, her hair fluttering in the breeze.

Then the shots rang out.

Pandemonium broke out. Passersby screamed. The crowd of people on the courthouse steps and in the street below broke ranks and ran for cover.

Lisbon turned instinctively towards the sound of the shots coming from behind them. She saw a glint of reflected light coming from the building next to the hotel they'd just left—the scope of a sniper rifle.

Jane seized her and pushed her the other direction. "Are you insane, woman? Run _away_ from the gunfire."

"I'm a cop—" she said indignantly.

"It's _you_ they're trying to kill, you lunatic," Jane said, still pushing at the small of her back to prod her up the stairs.

Montrose was shouting instructions to the team. "Soren, Jackson, stay with Teresa and Patrick. Don't let them out of your sight. Graham, Peters, drop back and support alpha team, try to get a line on the shooter. Mendoza!" she barked to the agent in front of her. "Go up ahead and clear the entrance."

The team dispersed amid more gunfire. A member of her detail went down with a soft grunt.

"Jackson!" Lisbon cried, automatically turning back to him.

Jane glanced back at him and tightened his grip on her, propelling her forward. "He'll be fine, he took it in the vest."

"We can't just leave him there," Lisbon protested, still resisting.

Jane roared in frustration. "Montrose!" he bellowed. "Soren! Help me."

Soren got there first. He seized Lisbon by the elbow and started hauling her up the steps, helped along by Jane, who kept one hand at her back to hustle her along. Montrose dropped behind them to provide cover from the rear.

Lisbon belatedly realized that if she was the target—which she almost certainly was, given the circumstances—her reluctance to leave Jackson was only putting him and everyone else in more danger. She quickened her pace and together, the four of them raced up the steps, taking cover behind a massive column at the top of the steps.

Lorelei came out of nowhere. She shot Soren in the chest before Lisbon had time to blink, then hit Montrose with a taser before the other agent could bring her weapon to bear. Soren went down with a grunt, followed by Montrose with a soft cry of pain. Lisbon looked at Lorelei, wide-eyed, and saw Mendoza sprawled prone behind her, unconscious and bleeding from the head. Lisbon swallowed and brought her gaze back to the barrel of the gun Lorelei had trained on her head.

Lorelei smiled and looked at Jane without letting the gun waver from Lisbon's head. "Hello, lover." She turned her head and smiled at Lisbon. "Teresa, so nice to see you again."

"Lorelei," Jane said without enthusiasm. "I suppose you're here to kidnap us."

"Not 'us,' Patrick," Lorelei said serenely. "I'm here to escort Teresa away from this place. It's not safe for her here." She raised the taser, aiming it at Jane's chest. "You'll stay here."

Lisbon was thoroughly sick of people telling her what was and wasn't safe for her. Like she was going to take safety tips from a serial killer's mistress. Taking advantage of Lorelei's temporary inattention as she aimed the taser at Jane, Lisbon swiftly closed the distance between them. Lorelei reacted as she saw Lisbon moving towards her, bringing her gun up, but Lisbon was too fast for her. She knocked the gun aside and smashed her elbow into Lorelei's mouth. Lorelei cried out and bent double in pain as the gun skittered away on the marble floor. Recovering, she brought the taser up, but Lisbon seized her wrist and twisted her arm, neatly relieving her of this weapon, too. When Lorelei hissed and went for Lisbon's throat with her bare hands, Lisbon thrust the taser into her side and squeezed the trigger.

"Thanks for the invite," Lisbon panted. "But I think I'll pass."

Lorelei slumped to the ground, breathing heavily, murder in her eyes.

Lisbon spared her one more glance, savoring the enormous satisfaction of having taken down Lorelei with her own damn taser for a split second before looking around and spying a guard wearing a courthouse uniform tentatively poking his head out of the main courthouse door.

"You," she barked, waving him over. "Come over here and cuff this woman. She escaped from federal prison two weeks ago." She tucked the taser into her inside jacket pocket—she was running out of places to stash weapons. "And get EMTs out here to look at these agents," she added, moving to check on Mendoza, who appeared to be the worst hurt. She checked his pulse and was relieved to find it strong and steady beneath her fingertips.

The guard's eyes widened and he called for two of his fellows to come help.

Montrose struggled into a sitting position, still groggy. Seeing Soren on the ground, she cried out in distress and crawled over to his side, her face ashen. "He's okay," she called to Jane and Lisbon, her voice shaky with relief. "He took it in the vest, just like Jackson."

"Thank God," Lisbon said, crossing herself. Jane, next to her, said nothing, but some of the color returned to his face and she heard him breathe out very carefully.

She looked over at him. "You okay?" she said, concerned.

"Yeah," he said, watching the guard haul Lorelei away in handcuffs. He shook his head. "I'm good."

The radio clipped to Montrose's vest crackled. "Shooters are down," the voice on the other end reported. Lisbon recognized Graham's voice. "Two guys, both with sniper rifles. Alpha team got here a couple minutes ago."

Montrose closed her eyes briefly in relief before hitting the talk button to respond. "Great work."

"Alpha team identified them as Scalzi's people," Graham reported. "But there's something weird."

Montrose frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The shooters. It wasn't our guys that got them," Graham said, bemused. "They were already dead when we got here. And there's this mark—it looks like it was drawn in their own blood. A smiley face."

Lisbon and Jane's eyes met. As one, they turned and started to run down the steps.

"What the hell?" Montrose yelled after them, still on her knees next to Soren. "Where are you going?"

Neither of them answered. They took the steps two at a time, intent on the small sliver of a chance that Red John hadn't cleared the building yet. If they could just get there fast enough—

A second set of shots rang out. But this set of shots came from a different building—the building next door to the one where the original shots had come from.

Jane and Lisbon paused a fraction of a second. They shared a glance, then changed direction and headed towards the second building.

"Second floor," Lisbon panted, gesturing to the bank of windows above. She could see spider vein cracks in one of the windows consistent with the impact from a low caliber weapon. "East side. Third window from the left."

They ran into the building. Another hotel. They blazed past the bemused security guard and hotel guests. Raced up the stairwell. When they reached the second floor, they slowed to a halt, checking the hallway from behind the door to the stairwell.

"What do you think?" Lisbon said in a low voice, eyes scanning the hall. The corridor was empty, but three doors from the end, a door stood ajar.

Jane swallowed. "It's him. It has to be."

Lisbon checked the clip on her gun, then drew a second weapon and checked that one as well. "Why do you think the door is open?"

"Something must be wrong," he said slowly, peering out at the hallway. "He wouldn't have left the door open like that on purpose."

"Unless it's a trap," she said, her heart sinking.

"Mm," he acknowledged, frowning.

Lisbon wiped a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. "So what do you want to do?"

He hesitated, then looked at her. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." She met his gaze. "I'm sure of you."

He swallowed. "I think…I think you should go first. You're a better shot."

"Okay." Lisbon took the third gun from her ankle holster and handed it to Jane, then picked up the Smith & Wesson and the Sig Sauer again. She nodded to Jane, and he pushed open the door. Lisbon led the way down the hallway, Jane following immediately behind.

Lisbon approached the open door cautiously, the sound of Jane breathing just behind her reassuring despite the ragged cadence betraying his anxiety. She positioned herself next to the door, poised for action. She signaled Jane to open it.

Jane pushed the door open, and Lisbon burst into the room, guns raised. "Hands where I can see them!" she bellowed.

"We've got the place surrounded!" Jane added for good measure from his position just off her right shoulder, his own gun raised. In his Kevlar vest, he could actually pass as a law enforcement officer to someone who didn't know him, which disconcerted Lisbon greatly even under these fraught circumstances.

Then they both stopped dead, taking in the scene that greeted them with mouths agape.

Van Pelt was nearest the door, kneeling on the floor and taking photos of the scene. Rigsby stood behind her, holding a compress to his head to staunch the bleeding from a gash in his temple. Cho stood over a body sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, talking into a radio.

"Wha-?" Lisbon said in astonishment, dropping the guns to her side. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Boss!" Van Pelt exclaimed, straightening and throwing her arms around Lisbon in a rib-cracking hug, heedless of the guns. "It's so good to see you."

"You, too," Lisbon said, tucking the guns away hastily so she could return the hug properly.

Jane was staring at the body on the floor, a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-forties. "Who is that?" he asked, his face pale.

"He doesn't have any ID on him," Cho said. He waited a beat. "But we think he's Red John."

Lisbon stared at the body, too. "Why do you—how do you know?"

"After he killed Scalzi's guy, Rubin—"

"The one who tried to burn your apartment down," Rigsby added helpfully.

Cho shot him a look. "Yeah. After he killed Rubin, we figured he had a plan to prevent Scalzi from getting at you."

"You think Red John came here to save me?" Lisbon said, horrified. "Why would Red John want to save me?"

Jane, still unnaturally pale, answered. "He wanted me…beholden to him."

"We think he wanted to keep you for himself, in any case," Van Pelt confirmed. "And when he and Lorelei sent those notes a couple of weeks ago, it seemed pretty clear he was planning to be at the trial."

Cho nodded. "We already knew Scalzi was going to try to kill you. Since he didn't know where you were, the time right before the trial was his only chance. So we figured if we got a line on the guys Scalzi assigned for the job and kept an eye on them, Red John would come right to us."

"Brilliant," Jane said faintly, still staring at the body.

"But how did you find Scalzi's guys in the first place?" Lisbon asked, amazed.

"We've been investigating Scalzi's network ever since Rubin died," Cho continued. "Pretty sure we know more about his network than the feds do at this point. So we figured out who'd copped the assignment to kill you and put the two of them under surveillance."

"What about the FBI? The marshals? Were they part of this plan?" Lisbon wanted to know.

"No," Van Pelt said. She exchanged glances with the other two. "We didn't know who we could trust. We agreed it would be just the three of us."

Jane looked half amused, half appalled. "So your plan was to just let Scalzi's people shoot at us in hopes that Red John would show up?"

"We figured the marshals would keep you guys safe from Scalzi," Rigsby said, his ears red.

"Besides, Red John was the greater threat," Van Pelt added defensively. "Once the trial was over, the marshals were going to be out of the picture. We thought this was our best chance of getting Red John."

Jane shook his head. "I just can't believe it actually worked."

Lisbon cast a glance at the body, still unable to believe that their nemesis was actually dead on the floor. "Are you sure it's him?"

"As sure as we can be until we can ID him and do a full investigation," Cho said. "We saw him talking to Lorelei in the building where Scalzi's men were stationed. She was definitely taking orders from him. And she obviously, uh—"

"Showed signs of slavish devotion towards him," Van Pelt finished.

"And he drew his sign over the shooters," Rigsby added. "We saw him do it before he left."

"I take it he didn't go down without a fight," Jane said, gesturing to Rigsby's bleeding temple.

"No," Cho agreed. "He ran for it when he saw we were closing in on him."

"But we got him in the end," Van Pelt said, radiating satisfaction. She looked down at the body, her lip curling in a savage grin. "Good riddance."

"So," Cho said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking between Lisbon and Jane. "How are you?"

"Good," Lisbon said faintly, still staring at the body.

Jane slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. "Never better."

Xxx

Half an hour later, Jane and Lisbon stood in the hall, waiting for Montrose to finish going over the scene with Wilkins and Chen of the FBI in addition to Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt.

Lisbon stared at the bland watercolor opposite her in a state of numb shock. She couldn't believe it was over. Just like that. Red John was gone.

There seemed to be little doubt that the man Cho and Rigsby had shot was, in fact, Red John. After joining Jane and Lisbon at the scene, Montrose had ordered the courthouse bailiff to bring Lorelei over to the hotel room where the body still lay on the floor. Lorelei had taken one look at the body and gone into a fit of hysterics. Then had fought wildly against her restraints in a vain effort to get to Jane with the apparent aim of inflicting as much physical damage upon him as she could manage before the bailiff had managed to subdue her. Her face pressed against the carpet and the bailiff's knee in her back, Lorelei had subsided into sobs, her eyes on her lover's body.

Once Lorelei had calmed down somewhat, she gave them a name.

She didn't try to bargain for herself in exchange for information. Rather, she gave it proudly, defiantly, stating that now that Red John was dead, his legacy would survive under his true name. That the world would finally know and venerate the man behind the name.

Jane had walked out at that point. Lisbon had hesitated, then followed him into the hall. She hadn't tried to make him talk, just leaned against the wall next to him, offering silent support. His breath had come ragged and harsh for several minutes, but his eyes were dry. A few minutes after his breathing had returned to normal, he'd reached out blindly and grasped Lisbon's hand like a lifeline.

Lisbon tore her gaze away from the pastel print and glanced back into the room where Red John's body lay, only to see Montrose walking towards them, weary, but with her shoulders squared.

Montrose looked back and forth between them. "Are you guys okay?" she asked soberly.

Lisbon nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Fine," Jane said, his voice clipped.

"Listen, I know it's been a hell of a morning," Montrose said. "But my phone has been going off constantly for the past twenty minutes. The lawyers are getting antsy."

Lisbon blinked. She'd almost forgotten about Scalzi and the trial, given everything that had been happening. "It's not—the trial's still happening?"

Montrose shrugged. "Apparently so. I guess the lawyers have done some fast talking to keep it moving forward. But if it's too much for you after the morning you've had, just say the word and I'll let them know we'll have to reschedule your testimony."

In truth, Lisbon wanted nothing more than to give her testimony. She wanted to put this whole protracted ordeal behind her as quickly as possible, and the sooner she gave her testimony, the sooner it would be over. But leaving Jane on his own at the moment seemed like a spectacularly bad idea on all possible levels. "Um," she said, glancing at Jane.

His gaze was fixed on a spot over Montrose's shoulder. Lisbon realized with a sinking feeling that he was staring at the body again.

Her hand hurt. Lisbon looked down and saw that Jane was clutching it very tightly, his eyes still fixed on the body. But after a moment, he forced his gaze away and looked at her. He took a deep breath. "Come along, my dear," he said, squeezing her hand again, this time more gently. He gave her a weak smile. Lisbon was relieved to note it reached his eyes. He tugged her away from the door. "I think you have somewhere to be."

Ten minutes later, Lisbon walked into the courtroom with Jane at her side, his hand at the small of her back. Montrose came in behind them, scanning the room. She glared when she saw Scalzi seated at the defendant's table, no doubt thinking of the gunfire that had taken down Jackson and left them vulnerable to Lorelei's attack.

The judge peered over the top of his spectacles at Lisbon, frowning. "Agent Lisbon. You're late."

"My apologies, your honor," Lisbon said humbly. "I was unavoidably detained." She shot Scalzi a look and raised her eyebrows. "Shall we get this show on the road?"

She was gratified to see Scalzi scowl and slump in displeasure, defeat written across his every feature.


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: Here we are folks, last chapter! Thanks for sticking with my rambling long-winded way of getting to the end once again. I've got a couple other TM stories in the hopper but will likely pause in posting for a bit while I work on writing for a while. Stay safe and well, everyone.

xxx

A week later, Lisbon paused as she unlocked the deadbolt to her apartment, glancing at the dark blue paint on the front door. She shuddered, thinking of Rubin's body lying on the doorstep where she stood now, Red John's mark painted on the door over him.

The door showed no signs of the macabre smiley face now. Grace had told her that she, Rigsby, and Cho had come over to fix it in her absence. They hadn't just repainted it—they had replaced the whole door. Not without much grunting from Cho and swearing from Rigsby, according to Grace, but they'd managed in the end. They'd fitted the new door and replaced the welcome mat. No remnant of either Scalzi's or Red John's presence remained.

"Everything okay?" Jane asked from behind her, his hand coming to rest at her waist.

Lisbon shook her head to clear it and opened the door. "Yeah. It's just weird to be back, after everything that's happened."

Jane followed her into the apartment, setting their duffels inside the door, then flipping on the lights. "Home sweet home."

Lisbon grunted in acknowledgment, dropping her keys in the dish on the table next to the door and surveying the place. Despite the long period of vacancy, it looked exactly the same as it had when she left. She'd expected it to be dusty and stale, but it looked clean—cleaner than she normally left it, even. She might have just stepped out for groceries, for all the differences it betrayed since she'd last set foot in the place.

She looked at Jane suspiciously. "Did you do something?"

Jane crossed the room and opened the blinds, letting in a shaft of early evening light. "I sent Grace some money last week and asked her to hire a team to clean the place. I see they aired it out as I asked them to. I hope Grace tipped them well." He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Ah," he said, pleased. "She had the groceries I ordered delivered, too."

He began opening all the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen, occasionally hm-ing to himself in disapproval as he worked his way through the kitchen. He opened the last cupboard and frowned, then shot Lisbon an accusing look. "Teresa," he said, appalled. "You don't own a tea kettle?"

She shrugged. "I only drink tea when you make it for me."

Jane continued to putter around and deplore the state of her kitchen under his breath. Lisbon stood in the doorway and watched him with suspicion.

Finally, he stood, shaking his head. "All right, I'm obviously going to need to go to the store tomorrow for a few necessities, but I suppose it's not as bad as it could have been." He shuddered. "Though just barely. No tea kettle, honestly."

He moved on to the living room next. "No major changes needed down here," he decided after conducting a thorough survey. "Little stuff—plenty of time to negotiate the details later." With that, he headed up the stairs.

Lisbon trailed after him, bemused.

He tutted over the bathroom, too. "Too bad you don't own this place," he said with a frown. "This would be all right if we could remodel a bit."

Lisbon's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "You've been here five minutes and you're talking about remodeling the place?"

"I suppose we could just buy a place of our own," Jane said as he brushed past her on the way into the second bedroom. "Would you rather buy a house or stay here?"

"I…hadn't thought about moving," Lisbon said, blinking. She also hadn't thought about Jane inviting himself to move into her apartment without consulting her first, but really, she shouldn't have been surprised.

"I figured you'd rather stay here at first, and that we could buy a house next year some time." He found a pile of boxes she'd finally migrated out of the living room but not actually bothered to unpack. He gave her a reproachful look. "You should really unpack these, you know."

"What's the point, if you're planning to move me out of here anyway?" Lisbon asked, her eyebrows narrowed.

"I suppose you have a point," Jane said. "All right, we'll table the issue of the boxes for now." He closed the lid on the top box. "Does this building allow pets?"

"Yes," Lisbon said, her eyes narrowing further. "Why do you ask?"

He finished his inventory of the guest room and stepped past her to make his way towards the master bedroom. "Just wondering if I'm going to need to hypnotize the building manager to let us get a dog."

Lisbon ignored the hypnotism comment and focused on the salient point. "Now we're getting a dog?"

"Of course. You love dogs. I love dogs. Obviously, we should get a dog." Jane went into the master bedroom and inhaled deeply. "Mm, this is more like it," he said in approval. He looked over at her and gave her a brilliant smile. "It smells like you in here. How did Grace manage that, I wonder?"

Lisbon detected the traces of her favorite fall spice candle in the air. "She's quite the magical helper," she said dryly.

"Yes, I definitely owe her," Jane mused, making his way to her closet and sliding the door open, revealing several neatly pressed men's three-piece suits hung next to her blouses and blazers.

"You had her move your stuff in here?" Lisbon said, exasperated.

"Well, naturally," he said, surprised. "I didn't think you would want to move into the extended stay hotel."

"You got that right," Lisbon said with a scowl, thinking of the horrible place Jane had stayed the entire duration of their acquaintance prior to their removal to Salt Lake.

"So it only made sense to bring my things here, since I didn't think you would want to move right away," Jane went on. "It doesn't matter to me where we live, though. Home is where you are. So if you'd rather start looking for a new place sooner rather than later, that's fine with me."

This was how she always ended up letting Jane get away with all his nonsense, she reflected. He'd do something outrageous, then throw in an offhanded comment that melted her heart despite herself.

_All right_, she thought to herself with a sigh. _Guess I've got myself a roommate now_.

Of course, they had been living together for several months now, Lisbon reminded herself as she headed back downstairs. She supposed it wasn't completely unreasonable for Jane to assume that the arrangement would continue now that they were back in Sacramento. It would just be nice if he thought about asking her about it first instead of acting like it was a foregone conclusion and just expecting her to catch up. But Jane was Jane—she was never going to change him.

His hand landed at the small of her back as they re-entered the living room. She looked over at him, exasperation mingling with affection. No, she was never going to change him. The maddening thing was that most of the time, she didn't even want to.

She stopped him at the bottom of the stairs with a kiss. "I'm glad you're here," she said, sliding her arms around his waist.

He kissed her back, then hugged her tightly. "No place I'd rather be," he murmured into her hair, his voice a little hoarse.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. Red John was dead. His network crippled, thanks to Lorelei's information. Scalzi was in jail, his organization destroyed. They were free. And Jane was staying. She tightened her arms around him and buried her face deeper into his shoulder. He was staying, and he was _hers_. "Can we still go skiing on Valentine's day?" she mumbled into his shoulder.

He smiled against her hair. "Certainly, my dear."

"Good," Lisbon said, snuggling closer.

He kissed the top of her head again, then drew back and tilted her chin up so he could look her in the eye. "Remember the day we got married?"

Lisbon's eyebrows rose. "I'd hardly be likely to forget it, considering the circumstances."

"You called it a pretend marriage," he reminded her.

Lisbon bit her lip. "I remember."

"You seemed to be under the impression that I treated the whole idea of marrying you as a game."

"Not a game, exactly," Lisbon hedged.

"As part of one of my usual schemes, then," Jane insisted.

"Well—yes," Lisbon admitted. "I mean—it obviously meant a lot to me that you wanted to protect me enough to leave the Red John case behind, at least temporarily. But you acted like the marriage aspect was nothing but a minor bureaucratic detail. An inconvenient obstacle in the course of action you intended to follow."

Jane grimaced. "I suppose I did. In some ways, to me, the marriage _is_ a minor bureaucratic detail. The part on paper, anyway. But I know it isn't to you. I should have made my position clearer."

"Your position?"

Jane nodded. "That the marriage was not so much about a convenient bureaucratic loophole, but more about—seizing an opportunity when it presented itself."

"Seizing an opportunity," she repeated, tilting her head to the side. She let her hands fall from around his waist. "What do you mean?"

"I fought against my feelings for so long," he said. "Everything in my head told me it was a bad idea to pursue anything with you. You were a threat to my revenge, and I was worried about putting you more firmly in his sights. But after Vegas, I missed you so much—" he bit his lip. "When Montrose said the only way I could come with you was if we were married, I was—relieved."

"Relieved?" Lisbon said, incredulous.

He nodded. "I've never been good at letting myself be vulnerable with anyone. And I already felt so—exposed, when it came to you. So the bureaucratic detail—it was a convenient shortcut. I would get to stay close to you, but I wouldn't have to—I could let you believe that the only reason I was going along with it was my concern for your safety." He looked into her eyes. "I wouldn't have to tell you how much I wanted it to be real." He took another deep breath. "But I'm telling you now." He gripped her hands. "I don't want to pretend you don't mean everything to me. I want this to be real." He kissed each palm in turn. "You and me."

"It is real, Patrick," she insisted. "I'm sorry I said it wasn't, okay? It is real. I don't want to pretend, either."

"No, I mean—I want to be married to you for real." He stepped back, then slowly knelt down on one knee.

Lisbon's eyes went wide and round.

"Teresa." He took her hand. "I never want you to doubt what this means to me. What _you_ mean to me. I love you, and I forgive you for pushing me into the pool." He reverently kissed the finger with her rose ring, then gazed up at her, his heart in his eyes. "Teresa, will you please stay married to me?"

"Yes." Her answer was immediate. She didn't need to think about it. She squeezed his hands and leaned down to steal another soft kiss. "_Yes._"

Jane kissed her back with enthusiasm, rising to meet her.

She slid her arms around his waist again and kissed him once more. "So we're getting a dog, huh?"

"Yep."

"And this house that you want to buy next year." She took a deep breath, her heart beating too loudly in her ears. "Is it going to have a nursery?"

"I'd like it to," Jane said, running his fingers through her hair. "If you're amenable?"

She affected a neutral tone, but she suspected the smile threatening to split her face in two undermined the effort. "As long as you don't decorate it pink, I think I could come around to the idea."

"Good thing we already have the Prius," Jane commented, smiling down at her.

Lisbon gave him a skeptical look. "You're getting rid of the Citroen?"

"Well…" Jane hedged. "I thought I would just keep both."

She raised her eyebrows. "Does that mean I get to keep the BMW?"

"Of course," Jane said. "It's far safer than the Mustang."

"We're not keeping four cars for two people," Lisbon said firmly.

"We have plenty of time to sort out the details," Jane said. "I'm far more interested in whether we're looking for a house with _a_ nursery or…multiple nurseries."

"Don't be silly," she chided him. "Of course we only need one nursery. By the time the second kid comes along, the first will be ready for a regular bedroom."

"Ah," he said, his smile brightening the whole room. "Silly me."

She stroked his face. "Are you going to keep the beard?"

"For now," he said. "It drives my wife wild, apparently."

She wasn't in a position to contradict him on this point, so she kissed him instead.

"On that subject," he said a few moments later, a little breathless. "What would you say to the idea of a proper honeymoon at some point?"

"Skiing?" she said hopefully.

"If you like. Or we could go tropical and try surfing. Or snorkeling. Or go to Europe and visit Stonehenge and the Coliseum. See the jewels in the sultan's palace in Istanbul. Or climb the Great Wall of China."

"Or go on that road trip you mentioned back when we were driving to Salt Lake," Lisbon suggested.

"Does that mean you changed your mind about the Airstream?" Jane said, delighted.

"Let's just say I'm not ready to rule anything out."

Jane's eyes lit up. "We could buy a boat. Sail around the world."

"Except that," Lisbon said. "I hate boats."

"I've always wanted to do that," Jane protested.

"Not happening," Lisbon said firmly. "Keep pitching."

Jane warmed to his theme. "Maybe we'll start with a long weekend in New York. Do all the most touristy things we can think of. Eat dinner somewhere absurdly expensive. Take in a show. Oh, and then later, on the road trip—we should make it a goal to visit every national park in the country. And as many state parks as possible. Did you know there are almost three hundred state parks in California alone? We could go to Morro Bay, Mount Tamalpais—on a clear day, you can see the whole city of San Francisco from Mount Tam, did you know that? Oh, and we could go to the caverns in Calaveras County—that's technically a state historic landmark, but I think it would be cool to check out the caves, don't you? And I'd like to visit the redwoods at some point..."

Lisbon listened, weighing in with her own opinions when Jane paused for breath or asked her a question about her preferences. But mostly, she listened. The sound of Jane, Patrick Jane, talking about having a life, about the two of them having a life, together, was a balm to her soul. She couldn't get enough of his voice describing all the things they'd do together, the places they'd see. It didn't matter to her which they chose first, as long as Jane would be by her side, whatever came next. Any of it—all of it—sounded absolutely wonderful.

She, for one, was really looking forward to their next great adventure.


End file.
